


Paternum 1: The Swift Uplifting Rush

by theVoidWatches



Series: Paternum [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Character, Gay Character, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Honestly pretty much everyone is queer in some way, Lesbian Character, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Multiple, Secret Identity, Superheroes, Trans Character, Varying Chapter Length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-07-31 06:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 95
Words: 78,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theVoidWatches/pseuds/theVoidWatches
Summary: When Quinn finds an experimental superpower-granting costume in their parents’ attic, they didn’t expect to be drawn into a web of superhuman intrigue, but their discovery serves as the catalyst for that conspiracy to slowly unravel.Also hosted at thevoidwrites.com, which includes illustrations beyond the cover.





	1. Cover Page

_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_  
_I am not there; I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow,_  
_I am the diamond glints on snow,_  
_I am the sun on ripened grain,_  
_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning’s hush_  
_I am the swift uplifting rush_  
_Of quiet birds in circling flight._  
_I am the soft star-shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_  
_I am not there; I did not die._

-Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1932


	2. Act 1: The Morning's Hush - Scene 1

** _Act 1_ **

** _The Morning's Hush_ **

_When you awaken in the morning’s hush,_

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

_Scene 1 - October 14th  
_ _Interior Classroom, Late Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“...Aaron Atwick proposed a single metagene,” said Professor Marigold, “but we now know that there are over a hundred genes that can grant superpowers. Some of them activate during puberty, triggered by changing hormones, as Ms. Kennethson’s did,” She gestured to Nellie Kennethson, our class’s representative of the 15 percent of the population who had superpowers - Nellie’s hair and eyes could change color at her whim. “Many others activate during adrenaline rushes. Some are activated by radiation. A few are even active from birth. It’s part of why powers are unlikely to ever reach past 15 percent of the population - only around 15 percent of people are ever in a position where their metagene is activated, even though almost 85 percent of people now possess at least one metagene. Does anyone know if they have a metagene?”

I dutifully raised my hand. “I was tested once,” I said. “I’m one of the 15 percent that don’t have any documented metagenes.” Learning that when I had had the opportunity to take a test that detected them a few years ago had been a bit of a blow - like most people, I had harbored a childhood dream of having incredible superpowers and becoming a great hero. My drive to become a doctor was, perhaps, borne of that childish desire to help, now with a goal I could actually attain.

“I have one that can activate from adrenaline!” volunteered Todd Brickler. “That’s why I got into skydiving - I hoped it would give me powers. No luck yet though.”

“I have three!” Sarah Finely said proudly. “One of them is from radiation, but no one knows what would trigger the other two for sure!”

Professor Marigold held up a hand to forestall anyone else from volunteering. “I hope I’ve made my point - dormant metagenes are more common than active ones. Not to mention the relative scarcity of magical and cosmic powers, which aren’t granted by metagenes.

“Now, like most things relating to superpowers, these categories are approximate. There are those who argue that metagenes simply allow one to instinctually channel magic, thus breaking the laws of physics. There are those who suggest that cosmic sources actually just activate dormant metagenes - perhaps unidentified ones, but still the same type of power. There are even arguments that magic is simply sufficiently advanced technology, and that magic should therefore fall under cosmic - or that all three sources should be merged, as there’s little meaningful distinction between them. After all, there are magical metahumans with no need for chants or signs, natural metahumans who must interface with technology, and cosmic metahumans who use hand gestures or mantras to help focus their power.

“Your homework, then...” Marigold paused to let us all groan, grinning, then continued, “your homework is to write a short paper - three to five pages, due next week - explaining why you believe two of the three sources are the same or why you believe they’re different. Everyone got that?”

That shouldn’t be too hard, thankfully. My mother had studied metahumans, after all - I was sure I could find something in her old papers that would help.

The professor glanced at her watch as we wrote our homework down. “And that’s four o’clock, so I’ll see you all next week. Make sure you write those papers!” Typically she strode out of the room at that point, but this time she stayed, allowing the students to vacate instead. “Mx. Kaufman, would you mind staying behind a moment?”

I furrowed my brow as the rest of the class began to leave. What did she want to talk to me about? I didn’t think I had screwed up during the class. I had spoke up once before being called on, but she had asked for input from the class and I hadn’t been the only one. I had even been engrossed enough in today’s lecture that I hadn’t doodled in my notebook today, although I usually did. We hadn’t had any homework due to her today, and -

“Quinn,” Marigold said to me with a somewhat sad smile. “I heard about your father. I just wanted to express my sympathies.”

“Oh,” I blinked up at her, then laughed, running a hand through my hair. “Thank you, professor, but he’s fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s in the hospital again, isn’t he? I know I’m not incredibly close to David,” she said with perhaps a slight pang of bitterness in her voice, “but he _is_ a co-worker, and I don’t think the inter-departmental gossip is that inaccurate. We do work in the same building, after all”

I shrugged dismissively, starting to pack up my things. “I mean, yeah, he’s in the hospital again, but, well... it happens from time to time. Chronic illnesses will do that to you.”

“You’re not worried?”

“Not especially,” I told her. “Dad’s beaten it back before and he’ll do it again. It’s not even the worst relapse he’s had. He’ll be out in a few days, I’m sure.”

She examined my face, obviously still concerned, so I made sure to smile reassuringly. I didn’t know what she was so worried about - Dad had been in and out of the hospital for years, and his current relapse wasn’t anything new. “Well, if you’re sure,” she finally said. “Still, please pass on my sympathies to him. If you need an extension on that paper, just ask.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got it covered, professor. I was able to keep up in your class during midterms for Organic Chemistry and Abnormal Anatomy, I think I can handle one week without my dad to interrupt me when I’m doing homework,” I joked. “I’ll be fine.” I gave her a smile and left. As I went, I gave a nod to Todd Brickler, who had been standing by the door.


	3. 1. Scene 2

_Scene 2 - October 14th  
_ _Interior Vituccio Hall, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufmann_

“What was that about?” Todd asked we left the room - he seemed to have been waiting for me, as he fell into step with me when I passed through the door.

I wasn’t sure why - we had worked together on a group project the previous day, it was true, but I didn’t exactly consider him a friend. Maybe my nod had given him the wrong idea. Still, I didn’t see any reason to be rude, so I answered, “She was asking about my dad - he’s in the hospital.”

“Oh damn, I’m sorry about that. Is he gonna be okay?”

I sighed. _Honestly_. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. It’s just a chronic thing that flares up every now and then.”

“Still. How did she know, though?” he asked.

“He’s a professor here as well,” I said. “He teaches poetry and literary analysis, most years. I think he started around the same time as Marigold?”

“Oh, neat,” Todd said, although from his tone I didn’t think he actually thought poetry was cool. “I guess you must be from around here, then?”

“Yeah, we’ve lived in New Venice since I was... seven, I think? We moved not long after mom...” I paused, unsure how to explain that my mother had been missing for most of my life. “Well, dad couldn’t support us just by raising me,” I eventually said.

“I guess you’re probably not staying in a dorm, then?” Todd asked. He tactfully didn’t press on the subject of my mother, for which I was grateful.

“Yeah, I’m still living at home. No sense spending money on a dorm when you don’t have to, after all.” It might have contributed to me not having many close friends at college, I supposed, but on the other hand it wasn’t as though I had a huge amount of time on my hands. I was handling it fine, but biology was a demanding major, particularly as I was planning to get a medical degree as well.

“Must be a bummer to have your old man around all the time, huh?”

“Nah, dad’s cool. We get along pretty well.”

“He doesn’t get upset when you bring guys home?” Todd joked.

“I’m single right now, actually. But no, he’s never minded me bringing boyfriends or girlfriends home. He likes to try and embarrass me when I do, though.” What was Todd getting at?

“What, you’re single? How could a girl as gorgeous as you be single?” he asked.

I blinked in surprise, then narrowed my eyes at him. So that was what he was getting at. “I’m not a girl, Todd,” I informed him - I was very open about the fact that I was nonbinary, and while it wasn’t always worth correcting the assumptions people made in one direction or the other, in this case I thought it was. “And yes, I’m single, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in _you_.”

It was blunt, but sometimes that was the only way.

Todd grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Quinn. Can’t blame me for trying, right?”

“I suppose not,” I admitted, “but the answer is no.”


	4. 1. Scene 3

_Scene 3 - October 14th  
_ _Exterior City, Late Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Metahuman History was my last class of the day, so after that awkward conversation I headed home. Normally I would hitch a ride back from the university with my dad, but with him in the hospital it was public transportation. The busses in New Venice terribly fast or reliable, but I should still get back home in time to check on the stew that I had set up before going to college for the day.

In the meantime, I went back to my sketching. My notes for today had only taken up three quarters of the page, so I had lots of room in the margins, and, glancing up on occasion for reference, I began sketching the city’s skyline. After a few minutes, I noticed a figure bounding between the rooftops - bright white costume against the sky, with a billowing red cape - and I couldn’t help but smile. Canaveral was on patrol today.

I added him to my sketch.

Not long after that, the bus arrived, and I had to return the notebook to my bag - no point sketching in a jerky bus. Instead I retrieved my notes from the morning’s Abnormal Anatomy class and began rereading them.


	5. 1. Scene 4

_Scene 4 - October 14th  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Early Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I checked on the stew as soon as I got home and found that it wasn’t quite ready. It needed another hour or so, so I texted Dad to let him know that I wouldn’t be over with dinner until a little later.

In the meantime, I was already finished with most of my homework. All I had was the essay that Professor Marigold had assigned, and I wasn’t ready to start on that yet - I was still turning the question over in my head and hadn’t decided what to write. So until the stew was done, I decided to continue the years-long project of cleaning up the attic.

After mom vanished, Dad had packed away all of her stuff and left it up there. It hurt him too much to see it, he always said, and for much the same reason he rarely spoke of her. In the last few years, however, the wound had finally healed enough that the two of us would occasionally go into the attic and go through some of her things.

We had found some interesting stuff, as well as a lot of pictures and mementos that would invariably make Dad stare into the middle distance for a while before ending our cleaning for the day. Books on genetics (some of them written by Mom, others heavily annotated in pencil), pictures of the two of them on dates early in their relationship (it was interesting to look at the two of them together and catalog which of my features came from which parent - I had my fathers curly hair, wide nose, and olive skin, but my mother had given me my pale blue eyes, sharp chin, and, interestingly, her smile. We had the same crookedness to our smiles, making us seem mischievous even when we were sincere), and even a collection of fantasy novels that she had enjoyed (Dad had suggesting donating them to the library, but I had snuck them into my own room to read in my sparse free time). It was where we had found the poster of Aaron Atwick.

Tonight, it seemed, would be a somewhat boring one in that slow process. The wardrobe containing her clothes that I was looking through surely held stories, but without Dad here to share them, they were just clothes. I went about sorting them into three piles - one for clothes that had held up well enough to be donated, one for clothes that would need to be thrown out, and a small pile for intact clothes that I wanted to keep for myself.

After all, my stork of a father couldn’t wear them. I, on the other hand, was around the right size, and a single college professor’s income only stretched so far. No sense wasting perfectly good clothes, especially ones as nice as these. I couldn’t help pulling on a t-shirt that I particularly liked (both “Mr” and “Mrs” crossed out, with “Dr” circled) before continuing.

As I pulled out the lowest drawer, I resolved to head downstairs after finishing the wardrobe. I should check on the stew again soon, I thought, then stopped.

This drawer didn’t hold clothes. Instead, it was occupied by a wide, black box, with no adornment other than a white label reading ‘Psychic Augmenter Mark 4’. That wasn’t something I could just ignore.

Inside the box, I found a sheaf of papers which seemed to describe a series of experiments that had led up to the creation of the PA4. The way it worked was far above my level - I was pretty bright for a college student, and I certainly intended to go into the field of metahuman medicine, which this kind of thing probably fell under, but I was only a premed student - I wouldn’t graduate college for another few months! I hadn’t even heard of half of these terms.

I turned my attention to what lay beneath the papers, the PA4 itself. It wasn’t what I would have assumed a ‘psychic augmenter’ would look like - rather than a futuristic helmet, it looked like a relatively standard superhero costume. A dark purplish-blue fabric, almost black, which contrasted strongly with a pair of knee-high armored boots and elbow-length armored gauntlets, both in white, with a transparent, plastic-like material making up the soles and palms, respectively.

...was this what had happened to my mother? Had she been a superhero who had run afoul of something beyond her? Wouldn’t Dad have told me about something like that? He had been tight-lipped about her for years, yes, but he had opened up since we started going through the attic. And something this big...

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have told me. But on the other hand, now that I thought about it, it seemed unlikely. Mom would surely have been an incredible superhero, but she was a metahuman researcher - creating something which would augment at least certain kinds of metahuman powers would probably be right up her alley.

I started to pack up the PA4, then stopped. It was probably a bad idea, I admitted to myself, but I couldn’t help it. It was a genuine superhero costume, or at least, the closest I was likely to ever get to one. I had to try it on!

It was a little loose on me, which comes with the territory when you’re trying to wear what was a probably standardized outfit while being only 5’4” on a good day, but I found a button on the belt which seemed to bring the thing to life. My entire body tingled as it contracted to fit me perfectly - a little too perfectly, in my opinion. I wasn’t particularly body-shy, but I wasn’t eager to show off my figure in _this_ much detail. Fortunately, the ‘fit me!’ button was inset into a dial, which I fiddled with and caused the suit to loosen slightly. Instead of showing every outline of my muscles, it was now about as form fitting as a typical piece of tight clothing. Interestingly, the transparent plastic had also lit up a bright blue, as did the buckle of the belt and the eyes of the full-face mask.

It was itchy, though. I stripped out of it as soon as I could.

Well, after taking some selfies.


	6. 1. Scene 5

_Scene 5 - October 14th  
_ _Interior Hospital Room, Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“Your son is here to see you, Mr. Kaufman,” the nurse called to my father as she opened the door to his room. “Just remember, visiting hours are over in forty five minutes, okay?” she said to me.

I nodded politely, waiting until she had left and closed the door behind her to walk over to dad, grumbling, “One day, when _I_ run this hospital, everyone will know what being nonbinary means.”

Dad smiled up at me from the bed where he lay. “You’ll change the world for sure, kiddo,” he agreed. “But in the meantime, you just have to struggle through. It’s not worth it to fight every little battle, not with people you’ll never see again.”

“I know, I know.”

“So...” he glanced around and lowered his voice as though about to discuss something illicit. “You got the goods?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I got the goods.” I produced a container of stew and handed it to him along with a spoon. “I don’t know why you always have me smuggle this in. I mean, surely you’re used to hospital food by now, right?”

“It’s the principal of the thing,” he declared, popping it open. “Like the man says, ‘Tell me not, in mournful numbers, / Life is but an empty dream!— / For the soul is dead that slumbers, / And things are not what they seem.’ In other words,” he explained, taking a sip, “you have to take pleasure in the little things. Like good food, even when you’re in the hospital. And on that note, yum! How much garlic did you use?”

“I just threw in all the cloves I could find in the cupboard,” I joked.

He frowned at me. “You didn’t buy extra? I know I’ve taught you better than that.”

“I thought about it,” I explained, “but any more wouldn’t have fit in the pot.”

“That’s no excuse,” he scolded, “we have a bathtub.”

“But the bathtub is full of eels.”

“Why is the bathtub full of eels?”

“Couldn’t fit any more in the hovercraft.”

Dad broke down at that point, and that set _me_ off. It was an occasional game of ours - to respond with more and more ridiculous statements until we couldn’t handle it anymore.

Eventually the laughter died down and we just grinned at each other for a moment. “Which man was that, anyway?” I asked after the moment past, scratching at the back of the neck.

“Hmm?”

“The poem you quoted.”

“Ah. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He wrote _Paul Revere__’s Ride_, among other things,” Dad told me when I didn’t immediately recognize the name. He taught poetry at the University of New Venice, and was a world-renowned scholar in poetic circles. “That was the opening stanza of _A Psalm of Life. _You ought to recognize it - or at least the line ‘footprints on the sands of time’.”

“A good line,” I agreed.

“Indeed.”

I scratched at my wrist as I began telling Dad about my day. Whatever had made the suit so itchy had been left behind after I took it off, and I couldn’t wait to take a shower later tonight.

“You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked a few minutes later. “You’ve been scratching a lot. Do you have a rash? I could call the nurse back...”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “It’s from... well...” I paused. “I was going through some of the attic stuff earlier, and I found something in the wardrobe while I was sorting through clothes.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was this weird thing that Mom made. A suit - like, a superhero suit.”

Dad went still. “Was it labeled?” he asked after a moment. “Psychic Augmenter?”

“Mark 4, yeah.” I told him.

He sighed. “That was a project which consumed your mother’s life for three years,” he told me. “You know Laura was trying to research cosmic-powered metahumans, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She had a theory that a commonality between a lot of cosmic-powered heroes was that their powers were psychic,” Dad explained. “Some kind of difference in the their nerves and brain tissue that broke the laws of physics in a different way than magically-powered heroes. She wanted to find a way to grant that to everyone - ‘to awaken the latent psychic powers in all of us’.”

“Sounds like a cool idea. What went wrong?” I asked. After all, if it had worked, the thing wouldn’t have been packed away in our attic - it would have revolutionized the world. “Funding dry up?”

He nodded. “The first version didn’t do much to the rats it was being tested on. The second seemed to do something, but it wasn’t clear what, so the third version was made for people. As I recall, results suggested that the nerves were being enhanced - faster reaction times and the like while wearing it - but people got incredible migraines after only a few minutes, and the results wore off. Laura was _certain_ that the fourth model worked, and that it would awaken dormant powers, but...” He sighed. “Turns out that people don’t actually have dormant psychic powers. The migraines of the third model were precursors to people’s neural systems melting, which happened in only a minute or so with the fourth. Funding failed pretty quickly after that,” he said, dryly. “...you didn’t wear it, did you?”

I met his worried eyes. “Um...” He began to look panicked. “Just for a few minutes!” I tried to defend myself. “And I’m fine! Just itchy from whatever the thing was made of!”

“_Itchy!_” he demanded. “Quinn, you could be hurt! What if the itching is a sign of nerve damage!?”

“I don’t think that’s how nerve damage works,” I said, trying to placate him.

“You may be a med student, but I was married to a neurologist for eleven years,” He insisted, pressing a button on the side of his hospital bed to call a nurse. “I’m getting you an MRI.”

“We can’t afford that, Dad!” I protested.

He glared at me. “We’ll find a way. I need to know you’re okay, kid.”

“Is something wrong?” asked a nurse - not the same one who had led me here - opening the door to see me and my father glaring at each other.

“My _idiot_ child exposed themself to a substance that may have damaged their nerves or brain,” he told her, still glaring at me. “I’d like them to get an MRI.”

“I’m fine!” I said again. “I’m fine,” I told the nurse.

“Sure,” he said placatingly. “I’ll just get a doctor about those tests for your daughter, alright Mr. Kaufman?” he told my dad, then left before I could protest that I wasn’t his daughter any more than I was his son.

“Let it go, Quinn,” Dad told me as I sank into a seat. “And you’re getting that scan.”


	7. 1. Scene 6

_Scene 6 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior Park, Noon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I got the scan.

The doctor, on hearing an abbreviated version of the story, agreed that it was probably best to check on my nervous system, and had even offered a discount ‘because David is such a good customer,’ he joked. But it didn’t show any irregularities.

Oddly enough, my itching cleared up around that time as well. I had developed a killer headache on the way home, but that cleared up after I got inside.

It was now the next day, and after outlining my Metahuman History paper I was going for a walk in a nearby park. I couldn’t stop thinking about the suit.

It was dangerous, Dad’s story had made that clear. It had killed whoever it was tested on, way back when. Or horribly injured them, at least. But all it had done to me was make me itchy, or so it seemed.

Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that Dad had been right - itching _can_ be a sign of nerve damage. But since I had none, it clearly hadn’t been.

The suit was supposed to awaken psychic powers, and Mom had been convinced that it did - but the people it had been tested on simply didn’t have dormant psychic power. But what if that just meant they didn’t have the right metagene? There was, after all, the theory that cosmic metahumans actually just had undetected metagenes - not everyone who came into contact with alien technology gained powers, after all. Many of them died, perhaps because they didn’t have the right kind of metagene.

I didn’t have any known metagene, but if I did have one... would it have granted me psychic powers? I hadn’t noticed any changes, though. Maybe the PA4 had just stopped working, over the fourteen or more years it had been left in the attic.

I absentmindedly stuck a hand out and caught a frisbee that had been whirring towards my head from the side, then snapped it back at the guy who had tossed it for his dog. “SORRY!” he called, and I gave him a wave to let him know it was fine.

Yeah, the thing had probably just stopped working. And I should head home - while outlining my history paper was enough work on that for today, I wanted to go over my notes for the afternoon’s Organic Chemistry class.

Besides, I was starting to get a headache again.


	8. 1. Scene 7

_Scene 7 - October 15th  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

A little later that day, I was sitting in a small circle in the regular after-class Orgo study group, when Susan Redhorn dropped her eraser, which bounced high over all our heads before coming down and rolling under a massive desk that took up most of the room we met in. “Shit,” she swore, “That’s a nice eraser. Anyone see where that went?”

“No idea,” came the resounding chorus from everyone - I supposed they had lost track when it bounced.

“It bounced into the ether,” Peter Smith said in his typical deadpan manner.

“Yeah, Pete’s right,” agreed Chris Timon. “That thing’s gone. Sorry, Sue.”

I rolled my eyes. “It ended up under the monster desk after it landed,” I told them, pointing.

She slid out of her seat and knee-walked over to the desk, leaning over to peer under it. “Quinn’s right, it’s down here,” she reported, “but I can’t reach it. My arms are too short.”

“Here, let me,” Peter offered, coming over to the desk. He lay down in Susan’s place and struggled. “No, my arms are too thick. I can’t reach far enough under either.”

“Maybe if you and I lift the thing up, Sue can grab it?” Chris suggested, wandering over as well.

“Let me have a go,” I said, knee-walking over like Sue had done. “I’m a few inches taller than Sue, at least.” Peter stood to allow me access, and I made my attempt. Unfortunately it was just out of my reach as well.

“Too far for you too?” Susan asked sympathetically.

“No, I think I can...” I shifted, turning my head to look away from the crack in the hopes that I could stretch that little bit farther. A moment later, I had my hand on the troublesome thing, and withdrew to present it to Susan. I went up to one knee and held it up to her like a knight making an offering to a princess. “Your trinket, my lady,” I joked.

“How kind of you, gentle knight,” she teased back, miming a curtsy despite her jeans before taking her eraser back. She cast a baleful eye over our study mates. “And what help were you two, I might ask? Two big strong men, unable to do such a simple thing for me?” She held the glare for a few seconds before we all collapsed into laughter.

Spending too much time on Orgo does strange things to the brain.


	9. 1. Scene 8

_Scene 8 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior Hospital, Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

When I went to visit Dad again the following day, I ran into a friend on the steps outside. Devon Durandel was one of the doctors at New Venice General Hospital, where dad checked in for his occasional relapses. During their residency, Devon had often been Dad’s attending doctor. We ran into them less often now that they had finished their residency and were specializing in Neurology, but it was always nice to see them.

“Hey, Quinn!” they called as I approached from the nearby bus station, dropping the apple they had been eating into a nearby bin. “Good to see you, dude. How’ve you been?”

“Premed is kicking my ass as usual,” I complained, hugging them. “You know how it is. What about you?”

“Same old, same old,” they said. “What brings you here? Don’t tell me David had another relapse!”

“I won’t tell you, then,” I said with a smirk.

Devon laughed. “I should drop in on whoever’s overseeing his care and make sure they’re doing it right.”

“It’s Mark Yaffe.”

“Ah, he’ll be fine then. Yaffe is a good guy.” They smiled at me, then jerked their head towards the basketball hoop a little ways away. “Fancy a game?”

“You know I suck at sports, Devon,” I reminded them.

“So do I. It’s nice to play someone at my level once in a while.”

I laughed. “Okay, one game.”

We grabbed a basketball from a nearby bin and squared off. Devon and I had tussled before on occasion - along with neither of us being very athletic, we were also around the same height, so it was a pretty even match. Or at least, they usually were.

Today, however, I was having an incredible streak of luck - I was handling the ball with grace and ease. It almost floated into my hands, always went where I wanted it to go, and on the rare occasions that Devon got ahold of it I could almost snatch it out of the air without looking. Within a few minutes I had spelled out H-O-R-S-E and won, without them getting a single letter.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Kaufman!” they complained. “Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider or something?

“No, although...” I paused. Weird things _had_ been happening all day, ever since I had worn the PA4 the previous evening - the frisbee that I caught without looking or even paying attention, the eraser that I had tracked also without looking, and which had leap into my hand despite my reach not being enough, this game... “Listen, I’m sorry to dunk on you and run, but I gotta go. I just remembered something important I need to talk to my Dad about.”

“Alright,” Devon said agreeably, returning the ball to its bin. “Tell David that I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“I will,” I called over my shoulder as I rushed into the hospital.


	10. 1. Scene 9

_Scene 9 - October 15th  
_ _Interior Hospital, Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“...and that’s why I think it might have actually worked,” I finished. “But if it did, I don’t really know what it gave me.”

“Hmmm...” Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hard to say. The theory was that everyone’s abilities would have been somewhat different, because everyone’s mind is somewhat different, but the thing was meant to grant psychic abilities. Telepathy, telekinesis, extrasensory perception, that sort of thing.”

“Some combination of those could certainly explain today,” I mused. “Mostly the perception thing... but I haven’t noticed any new senses. Wouldn’t I have?”

He shrugged. “Could still be settling in, could be that your brain just folded whatever new thing its picking up into the senses you’ve already got. That seems more likely, to be honest.”

“I guess so. Neural plasticity and all, I’d probably be more likely to get induced synesthesia. But again, I haven’t noticed anything different about my senses. Haven’t seen anything weird, I didn’t hear anything special when the frisbee was coming...”

He flicked me in the middle of the forehead. “Use those bio classes I’m paying for, kiddo. You have more senses than the five obvious ones.”

I frowned. “Equilibrioception, thermoception, proprioception, nociception...”

Dad raised an eyebrow. _“I_ didn’t take those classes. Which are those?”

“Sorry... equilibrioception is your sense of balance. Thermoception is temperature. Proprioception is the position of your body parts. Nociception is pain.”

“Well, I sure hope it’s not plugged into your pain sensors.”

I shook my head. “Definitely not. _That_ I would have noticed. But...” I considered. “It _might _be plugged into my proprioception. That’s a pretty subtle sense to start with.”

Dad cocked his head. “What would that mean, exactly? To sense the world around you as though it was part of your own body?”

I blinked at him, and suddenly realized that that was _exactly_ what it felt like. “That’s it...” I said slowly. “That’s... Dad, you’re a genius!”

“That’s what it says on my business cards,” he agreed. “Why am I a genius?”

I jumped out of my seat. “Now that I’m paying attention, I can actually feel it!” I explained. “Everything around me... I know exactly where it is! How it’s moving!” I focused, closing my eyes. “I can kind of sense other stuff, too... their temperature, pressure...”

“How sharp is it?” Dad asked curiously. “Could you read a book from across the room?”

“No, it’s not like seeing.” I told him. “I’m not getting color at all. If it was braille, maybe... well, if I knew braille. But... there might be something else.” If I was feeling the world around me as though it was a part of me, then... could I move it as though it was? I thought I had done something of the sort with the eraser earlier, so...

I stared at my dad’s glasses, little half moons perched on the tip of a wide nose, and tried to imagine them moving. No, wait, that was wrong. You don’t move your arms by just imagining them moving, you just move them. I tried again, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Kid?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, and instead tried a slightly different tact. I was certain that I _could_ do it without moving, but it seemed like it would take practice. For now, perhaps... I made a kind of ‘come hither’ gesture, and his glasses flew towards me. Before they struck me, I held my hand in a ‘stop’ motion and they halted in midair.

“Dad!” I shouted, ecstatic.

“Whoa!” He stared at his glasses hanging in mid-air. “I guess that settles it - you’re a metahuman, Quinn.”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t stop grinning. “I guess I am."


	11. 1. Scene 10

_Scene 10 - October 15th  
_ _Interior Hospital, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Dad didn’t let me celebrate for long, though. “So what are you going to do with these powers? Hero work? Construction? The theater?” He gave a wicked grin. “Villainy?” he teased.

“Give me a second, Dad!” I complained. “I’ve only had them for like, a day. I don’t even know what I can really do with them yet. How am I supposed to know what to use them for?”

“You have to register with the DMO regardless,” he reminded me.

“I know, I know,” I agreed. “But there’s a one-month grace period, right?”

“Right,” he said. “After that, well... we can’t afford those fines.”

“I know, dad.” I said again. “I’ll register, I promise, I just want to figure out what I can really do first. ESP and telekinesis could be great or crappy, depending on what the limits are. I want to find those out before I share this with anyone.”

He watched me for a moment, then leaned forward to take his glasses back from where they still hung it midair. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he said, a little reluctantly. “Just be careful when you’re experimenting. There are dangerous people out there. The Buff Boys, the Crows...”

“Why do you automatically assume I’m about to go out and roam the streets at night, playing with my new powers?” I complained.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Probably because you’re about the go out and roam the streets at night, playing with your new powers.”

I shrugged. “It’s a fair cop.”

He chuckled. “I’ve known you your whole life, Quinn. You’re not going to surprise me.” Then he sighed. “I know I can’t convince you otherwise, and you’re an adult anyway. It’s not my decision, just... promise me you’ll be careful?”

I leaned over his bed and hugged him, then gave him a peck on the forehead. “I promise. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, kiddo.” He smiled at me as I turned to go. “Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I think that the psychic suit was meant to be armored as well - you should probably wear it if you’re going to go playing with your powers. And if it hasn’t killed you yet, it probably won’t.”

I nodded. “Good idea. It has a full face mask, too - I don’t know if I’ll want to keep my identity to myself, but you can’t untell a secret.”


	12. 1. Scene 11

_Scene 11 - October 15th  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

As promised, I returned home to change into the PA4 before venturing into the night to find somewhere I could practice with my powers. When I stepped out into the night air, however, I had discovered that the thin material of the suit wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the chill of the sea breeze, and that a temperature I considered quite pleasant in a full set of clothes was kind of cold in what, I bitterly considered, was the next best thing to long gloves, knee-high boots, and _body paint_.

I had gone back inside and grabbed the plaid shirt that I had been wearing that day, pulling it on over the PA4. Like most young queer adults, I had a large collection of plaid shirts of varying colors - today’s had matched the colors of the trans flag. I grinned as I stepped out again, this time ready to face the chill of the night.


	13. 1. Scene 12

_Scene 12 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior Junkyard, Late Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

My practice session, I thought an hour or two later, had been pretty productive. I had figured out the limits of my powers, at least to some degree.

My ESP seemed to extend in all directions from my body, and was blocked by the first solid enough object it encountered. The farther something was from me the harder it was to sense - I couldn’t feel the moon at all, which was simultaneously disappointing and a relief, but I could vaguely sense a cluster of skyscrapers that touched the sky on the other side of the city.

It was hard to tell quite how precise it was - it certainly felt pretty precise, but I didn’t really have a good way to measure that - but I had figured out that if I focused, I could get a more clear picture of things - in the sense that I could kind of feel things out with other senses, not just proprioception. Doing so both limited all my other senses (including the expanded proprioception that the ESP normally manifested as) and gave me a headache, so I figured it wasn’t something I would do often if at all. But it had been interesting to see everything in my radius at once - if only I hadn’t gone mostly deaf while I was doing it. Similarly, the incredible fidelity and directionality my sense of hearing had when my ears were effectively spread over the entire junkyard had been incredible, except that I was the next best thing to blind.

So my ESP wasn’t bad. My telekinesis, though... well, it had its ups and downs.

On the up side was that as far as I could tell, I had no limit on how much force I could exert. At least, nothing in the junkyard had been too heavy for me to lift and toss - it was probably more likely that my limit was simply above the weight of anything here.

On the downside... when I started shifting things with more mass than a pair of glasses, I had quickly realized that unlike any other telekinetic I had ever heard of, I had to abide my Newton’s laws. Everything I moved with my TK moved me as well - lifting a pair of glasses had meant nothing, but when I began to lift an old car I had been driven to my knees. A fridge had been about my speed, though.

Back to upsides, it seemed that there was another bonus to the PA4. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was actively wearing it, or if this change would stick around, like my ESP and TK, but I was definitely considerably tougher than I had been. There was no way that slender, 5’4” Quinn Kaufman could have handled the force it took to lift a full-sized fridge two days ago, and a car would have completely flattened me.


	14. 1. Scene 13

_Scene 13 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I was just heading home when I was interrupted by a deep voice calling out.

“Hello there!” came the call from a nearby rooftop, a smile clear in the speaker’s tone, and I immediately zeroed in on him with my ESP. Tall, muscular (_very_ muscular, I noticed with a little embarrassment - I hadn’t meant to look _that_ closely), crouching with one knee on the edge of the building and a billowing cape behind him. “What brings you out so late on this fine evening?

I only knew of one person in New Venice who wore a cape like that. _“Canaveral?”_ I cried, not sure if I believed what was happening.

The superhero gave me a cheeky salute, then launched himself off the building, doing an acrobatic flip before plummeting two stories to the ground and landing in front of me with a perfect three point landing that didn’t even damage the pavement. He straightened up and grinned down at me. His cowl revealed chocolate-covered skin and a wide grin. “That’s me,” he confirmed.

What I _wanted_ to say was that I had admired him since I was 10. What I _wanted_ to say was that he was one of my personal heroes. What I _wanted_ to say was that it was an honor to meet him.

What I actually _said_ was, “I have a poster of you in my bedroom!”

Canaveral’s grin cracked a little and my heart leapt into my chest - I had made it weird, I just knew it - then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed...

It felt like he laughed at me for hours, but it was only a few seconds before he was just chuckling - if it had ever been laughter, and not just anxiety telling me that he was laughing at me - and tapping one of the fins on the side of his head. “I don’t think she’s a threat, Console,” he said, clearly speaking into an earpiece, then focused on me again. “What’s your name, young lady? And what were you doing in the junkyard? Powers testing, right?”

I... hadn’t picked a costumed name yet, and however much I admired him I didn’t think I wanted to give my personal details to a super-powered cop, not if I didn’t have to. Also, “I’m not a lady,” I heard myself say. “They/them pronouns.” Fuck, what if he’s a bigot? I had just outed myself to the leader of the New Champions!

But Canaveral nodded in acceptance immediately, and I felt my racing heart settle, just a little. “Apologies. My questions still stand, though. What’s your name, kid?”

ESP was lame and probably taken, Psychic Augmenter was terrible and so were its derivatives, but... “Call me Newton for now, sir,” I said. “I don’t really have a name yet...”

He chuckled. “I’m no sir. Just Canaveral is fine. Or Navi, if you’re feeling up to it - it’s what most of the Champions call me, since four syllables is a bit long.”

I stared. I couldn’t believe _anyone_ would call him that. “I think I’ll stick with Canaveral.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” After a moment, he prompted me, “Junkyard?”

I jumped. “Oh! Sorry. Yeah, it was powers testing, like you thought.”

“Mind if I ask what you found out?” he said, sounding genuinely curious.

I nervously scratched the back of my neck. “Nothing too exciting,” I muttered. “ESP and telekinesis, sort of.”

“Hey, me too!” Canaveral held a gloved hand out for a high five. I stared at it for a moment before remembering how to work my arms and tentatively gave him five. He grinned as though this was a normal interaction - and, I supposed, perhaps it was for him.

“I thought you had some kind of super strength?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nah. I control the kinetic energy of the things I touch,” he said. “Lets me pull off some tricks that usually require super strength, sure, but its a bit more versatile in some ways. Less in others, admittedly.” He grinned again - I wondered how often he brushed to get a smile that white. “I sometimes have to ask Vulcan to help open the pickle jar,” he joked in a stage whisper.

Without really thinking about it, I found myself replying as though it was part of the game with Dad, “I usually go for the table saw when I have that issue.” Then I clapped my hands over my mouth - well, where my mouth was, given that the PA4 had a full face mask - I couldn’t believe I had just said that to _Canaveral!_

He stared at me for a moment, mouth a little open in disbelieve, and I was about to continue berating myself for revealing what a _weirdo_ I was to the _foremost hero in the city_, when suddenly he laughed. A big, booming, belly laugh that seemed more genuine than his previous friendly chuckles. “I like you, Newton!” he said, slowly calming down. “That kind of sense of humor is rare.” He smiled at me, pleased. “Want to join me in the next leg of my patrol?”

My jaw dropped. “Really?”

Canaveral nodded. “Experience is the best teacher,” he assured me, “particularly when you have someone to help guide you. Besides, I’m just off to bust a drug deal - shouldn’t be any trouble for two heroes like us!”

“I...” my head was spinning - I couldn’t believe he would put me on the same level as him! “I don’t even know if I want to _be_ a hero!”

“Really?” He tilted his head as though confused. “That costume looks pretty professional.”

I blushed under the mask as I looked away. “I kind of... found this costume. It activated my powers.”

“Where?” Canaveral immediately asked, and my eyes were dragged back to his face. He had, very suddenly, become completely serious as he had not been before.

“My parent’s attic,” I confessed. “My mom made it.”

Canaveral studied me for a moment. “Alright then.” He smiled once more. “And hey, if you’re not sure, no better way to find out than to try, right? How about it?”


	15. 1. Scene 14

_Scene 14 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I had to think about it. I had promised Dad that I would be careful, but I would be with Canaveral, who was a hero and could surely keep me safe, right? “I’m still learning my powers,” I reminded him.

“I’m sure I can give you some suggestions,” he promised. “Can you give me a few more details? ESP and TK, you said? What’s the ESP like?”

I nodded. “I can sense the positions of everything in a pretty wide radius around me, and it’s more precise the closer it is to me. I can also spread any of my senses over the same radius, but the senses I’m not spreading get drained to almost nothing.”

The hero scratched his chin. “Alright. Stick to your default mode for now, assuming that doesn’t mess with your other senses.” I shook my head, and he continued. “What about the TK? You said it was only sort of telekinesis? What do you mean by that - can you affect yourself?”

“If only I could _not_ affect myself,” I complained, and quickly explained to him how the TK pulled at me when I used it.

“Interesting,” Canaveral commented. “I certainly understand your choice of name.” He scratched again, deep in thought. “What’s the largest thing you tried to move?”

“A car. Almost knocked me flat on my ass,” I confessed, a little embarrassed by how limited I was.

“Hmm. Come over here, Newton,” he said, and led me to the building he had jumped off of. “Alright, I want you to put your hands on this wall. Now... try pulling the building towards you.”

I saw what he meant immediately, and took a step forward. I _pulled, _and felt everything shift as the force of my TK quickly outweighed gravity’s hold on me. A moment later, I was standing on the wall, my head now level with Canaveral’s - albeit at a 90 degree angle from him. I grinned at the hero, although I knew he couldn’t see it.

He grinned back, “Clever kid, aren’t you?” he complimented. “That’s what I was leading to, yeah. Most telekinetics can’t affect themselves - some can’t even affect things that would move them - but your version can actually boost your mobility.” He paused briefly, then asked, “are you negating gravity entirely, or...?”

I shook my head. “I still feel it pulling that way, a little,” I told him, gesturing to the ground, “but my TK is strong enough to outweigh it.” I paused, then added, “and I think I instinctively pulled at a slight angle, not head-on, so that’s helping to cancel it out. Definitely not negated though.”

He nodded. “That’ll be useful for you. Come down a moment?”

I stepped off. “Another idea for me?”

“Exactly. This is mobility too - try pushing on the ground, see if you can get a boost to your own jumps.”

“There’s a problem with that,” I pointed out. “Coming down safely. I feel like that would take more practice than launching into the air.”

The hero shrugged. “Just keep another soft push to slow you down when you’re falling. I’ll be right here to catch you if you need.”

I couldn’t argue with that - he was right that training next to a hero was pretty safe.

I was right that landing would take practice, though.


	16. 1. Scene 15

_Scene 15 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Night  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Canaveral led me across the city, helping me practice using my telekinetic power to move until I began to grow confident. As I learned, I found that maintaining a loose hold on the most solid parts of the world around me - buildings and the ground itself - I was able to guide my trajectory with relative ease and an almost instinctive grace. True flight seemed to be beyond me, sadly, but I was bounding around much as Canaveral did.

It was some time later that the hero paused me as we landing softly on a rooftop near the docks, at the end of Brockton Street. “Alright, time for details,” he said, his voice low. “The drug deal I mentioned earlier should be going down in about...” he glanced at his wrist as though looking at a watch, but it was bare. “...ten minutes or so. That means I have just enough time to brief you. Basically, it’s supposed to be a pretty large purchase of brawn from the Buff Boys,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow, then remembered that he couldn’t see it and tipped my head to the side instead. “Buying brawn from the Buff Boys?” I asked. “But boss, bodybuilders bamboozle and befuddle me. Those brutish bastards are barbaric, and there are billions of them in the barnyard below! Can’t we build a barrier to barricade the brawl before we’re beaten brainless?”

I couldn’t see his eyes, but Canaveral rocked back on his heels for a moment. “You done?” he asked.

I thought for a moment longer, but couldn’t think of any other B words that fit the situation. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“So like I said, the Buff Boys are selling a few cases of brawn to an out-of-town buyer. The tip-off said that none of their metahumans would be here, but with a sale like this one I expect that one of them will be here - probably Ridealong.” He paused. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, what’s brawn actually?” I asked. “I mean sure, I’ve seen movies where it makes people huge and super-strong, but I assume that in real life it’s not quite like that. And can you tell me a little bit about the Buff Boys? I don’t know much about them.”

He shrugged. “Well, you’re right that it’s not as dramatic as the movies like to make it, but it’s not far off. You do become stronger, but also faster and tougher. It’s...” he glanced at his wrist, then at the street. “Ah, we got time.

“So brawn, basically, is a mixture of three older power-granting drugs. I don’t know their actual names, just the street names,” he warned me, “but they do actually have legitimate uses. But they’re also used by gangs, because, well...” he spread his arms in a sort of ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “They give you superpowers.

“The first is gorilla juice, or just gor. Gor makes you stronger - it’s what the movie version of brawn is based on, mostly. Inject it into your muscles and they become way more powerful. It’s used in microdoses to help people with atrophied or otherwise weakened muscles. In larger doses, though...” he winced. “To put it simply, gor makes you very strong. But it doesn’t make you _tough_. You’ll bruise yourself just moving, and if you take too much of it you can shatter your bones by _breathing_. Not a pretty sight.”

“I can imagine,” I commented. It was a little gross, but I’d read about worse in various premed classes.

“Next up is diamond dust,” Canaveral continued. “Also known as mond. Mond is a powder that you snort, usually, and it makes you tougher, but also slows down your biological processes. You end up very slow. Again, it’s used in microdoses in a medical context.” He scratched at his chin, clearly trying to remember the details, and continued, “as I recall, it helps alleviate seizure symptoms and reduces the risk of heart attacks - or maybe just their severity? I forget. Anyway, it’s also found as skin patches in really high-end first aid kits, because in high enough doses it basically locks people into total immobility and invulnerability. It’ll basically put the person on hold, give them more time before they need medical help. Expensive, though.

“Last is acceleration, or axel.” He paused. “This is the nasty one, in my opinion,” he warned. “Drink it, or take it as a patch on your skin, and it speeds you up in time - your perception of it too, not just your movement. It tends to cause pretty nasty mental issues in people who use it for too long - you move so fast that you can’t interact with anyone else, and a lot of people get isolation-related trauma from it. And it’s addictive as all hell. But again, it’s got legitimate medial uses,” he allowed. “Microdoses of axel can help speed up healing and fade scars.”

“So...” I said, putting it together. “Brawn is a mixture of all three, covering for the downsides of the others. Gor doesn’t make you tough, so you add in the mond. But then you’re too slow to do anything, so you add in axel.”

The acrobatic hero nodded. “Exactly. For best effect it needs to be mixed specifically for each individual person, because the effects of each piece vary based on different factors. Gor is more powerful on people with more muscle mass to start with, but mond varies depending on bone density. Axel varies depending on the purity of the formula more than the person taking it.”

“Got it,” I said. “What about the Buff Boys? Based on their name, I guess they trade in brawn a lot?”

“Exactly right. They used to just do smuggling and a little bit of drug trade - power drugs included. But after brawn cropped up across the country about seven years ago - the three component drugs had never been mixed successfully before - and they were one of the main sources,” Canaveral elaborated. “We still don’t know exactly where it comes from, but almost all brawn in the Middle Atlantic comes through them one way or another.”

“Should I expect these thugs to be on brawn, then?” I asked.

“The Buff Boys, yes,” he confirmed. “They’ll be the ones in red headbands. The buyers, probably not.” He glanced over the edge. “Looks like the BB are there already, but we’re still waiting on the buyers.” I began to rise, but he caught me by the wrist and pulled me back down into a crouch. “Slow down there, kid! We can’t arrest them just for wearing gang colors. We have to wait and catch them in the act.”

“Aren’t they in possession of illegal drugs?” I pointed out.

He shook his head. “Like I said, all three components of brawn have medical uses,” he reminded me. “It’s not illegal to own any of them, or brawn itself for that matter. Buying any of it from outside a pharmacy, however, is. That’s why we have to wait for the sale.”

“I understand,” I promised. “...so you said that you expect there to be metas? Are you sure that I should still join in?”

He shrugged. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable,” he promised me, “but I think you should give it a shot. I mean, technically being a vigilante is illegal,” the hero admitted, “but no one pays attention to that as long as you don’t go around crippling people. And I’m here, so you’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t as sure, but I wasn’t about to argue with _Canaveral_. “What metas can we expect?”

“The BB have two confirmed metas,” he told me. “The leader goes by Ridealong, and the MLED believes him to be an uncontrolled shapeshifter - Self Buff, technically, but...” he shrugged. “He generally looks different every time he appears, which is why we think he’s a shapeshifter, but he always identifies himself by wearing a blue scarf. That’s why we think it’s uncontrolled, he wouldn’t need to wear something for identification if he could control his appearance.”

“What are his combat capabilities like?” I asked.

“Good question, but unfortunately they’re unclear. It seems to vary depending on his current body. Nothing beyond human, though, unless he’s on brawn at the time. Then, generally enhanced physical abilities.

“Ridealong is likely to be present - or I thought so, but I don’t see his scarf down there - but he’s not the only meta in the BB,” Canaveral continued. “The other is called Rube. A little under six feet tall, wears a golden bodysuit with blue highlights - eyes, gloves, boots, and belt, a bit like yours. Again, their power isn’t 100% confirmed, but it’s believed to be an Area Control effect that makes them incredibly lucky. If they’re around, you get out,” he told me sternly.

“...lucky?” I asked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really. It may not sound like much, but they’ve gone toe-to-toe with _Borda _and - well, they didn’t win, obviously, but they escaped.”

I almost whistled, impressed, but remembered just in time to stop myself. I may not have known a much about the gangs in New Venice, but you’d have to live under a rock not to know about la Borda.

“Those are the only two confirmed metas that the BB has,” he said as he checked the street below again, “but there are rumors of a third. Remember how I mentioned that brawn is best when mixed individually for the taker?” I nodded. “Well, at first the Buff Boys were just selling generic mixes that weren’t balanced. You tended to end up bruised from not enough mond to balance out the gor, slow from not enough axel, whatever. In the last year, however, they’ve not only started to sell individually mixed brawn, their members have also been getting custom mixes.”

“They have someone who can mix it individually,” I concluded. “Does that person have to be a metahuman?”

“They don’t _have_ to be,” he admitted. “But I have a hunch. They wouldn’t be here though, whoever they are - too valuable to risk sending out.” He glanced over the edge of the building once more, and tensed.

“This is it - the buyers are here. 11 Buff Boys, assume all juiced or with brawn on them - 7 buyers, all in civilian clothing. No apparent metas,” he summarized in a practiced manner. “Leap to the other side of the road to flank them, on my mark...” He fell silent, presumably waiting for the sale to actually take place. “...three, two, one, _mark!__”_


	17. 1. Scene 16

_Scene 16 - October 16th  
_ _Exterior Docks, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Canaveral flipped himself over the edge of the building and plummeted to the ground, landing lightly on his feet. A moment later, I jumped myself, _pushing_ against the building while _pulling_ on one of the ones on the opposite side to launch myself across the street as he had directed me. With a momentary grip on the world around me, I twisted in midair and adjusted my trajectory. One more _push_ slowed me as I approached the ground, and my landing was only a little bit jarring.

On the other hand, even with the greater toughness that had come either along with my other powers or from the PA4, the backlash of my TK was starting to make me incredibly sore. It wasn’t exactly debilitating, but it certainly wasn’t fun.

“Bit late for a walk, isn’t it?” Canaveral asked the assembled gangsters as though they had just bumped into each other in the park. His hands were casually hooked in his belt as he began to stroll towards them.

“Canaveral,” growled one of the Buff Boys who seemed to be in charge, snapping shut a briefcase that my ESP told me was filled with cash. “You’ll forget what you saw here if you know what’s good for you.”

The hero responded with a cheeky grin. “I’m afraid that reliable sources tell me I _don__’t_ know what’s good for me.”

“You really don’t know what you’re stepping in the middle of here,” said one of the buyers, who also carried a briefcase - presumably the brawn they had just bought. “Walk away.”

Canaveral sighed. “You criminal types never come up with anything new,” he bemoaned as I hesitated. “It’s always either ‘leave if you know what’s good for you,’ ‘you don’t understand the full picture’, ‘I’ll give you a cut if you keep your mouth shut,’ or ‘hey, it’s that hero guy! Get him!’ Just once, _once_, I’d like it if you did something new. I don’t really care what.” He shook his head as though disappointed. “I guess I’ll keep up my end of the script. You’re all under arrest.”

“Get him!” roared the Buff leader.

That seemed to be the cue for the fight to begin, as the gangsters all rushed for Canaveral. He casually flicked a hand, something he had pulled from his belt spreading out and striking the vast majority of them, knocking most of them over. “Oh, and just so you know,” he called, “It’s ‘bring your sidekick to work day’ today, so I’ve brought a friend. Feel free to join in any time, Newton!”

I shook off my hesitation and flicked my fingers at one of the thugs who remained on her feet, _pulling_ her legs out from under her and causing her to fall as well. The sudden feedback from my TK almost knocked me off my feet too, though - I would need to figure out how to compensate. “Your sidekick?” I asked Canaveral. “Doesn’t that imply a preexisting relationship? We met barely three hours ago!”

He somehow shrugged while handcuffing a groaning gangster. “Well, I’m taking it on myself to mentor you, at least for tonight. You’re not experienced enough to qualify as a partner. You’re not a civilian. If the shoe fits, wear it.” He smirked at me.

There was a guttural growl as two of the Buff Boys were rising to their feet and pulling vials of golden fluid from within their jackets. Canaveral turned towards them as they uncorked and drank the vials - brawn, I had to assume. Steam rose from their skin, which turned a vaguely golden color, and they visibly grew at least an inch in height.

“I’ve got this, Newton,” he assured me, producing a thin length of chain from within his belt. “Make sure none of the others get up.”

Without looking, I _pushed_ at any who seemed to be getting to their feet, strongly enough to prevent them from making any headway. I could feel it nearly knocking me into the air, so I _pulled_ at the ground, locking myself there as well. The forces canceled out, but it felt like being squeezed in a giant vise. I really needed to figure out a better way to do this.

I watched as Canaveral manhandled the two boosted thugs, using his control of kinetic force to manipulate the chain in impossible ways. It was impressive to watch. I was so wrapped up that I forgot to pay attention to the downed gangsters, and almost missed it when one of the buyers who had fallen on her back managed to produce another vial from within her jacket.

I whirled, and tried to _pull_ it out of her hand towards mine, while _pushing_ at her fingers to make her lose her grip. But I was already splitting my attention and power so many ways that she managed to hold onto it just long enough. She squeezed, and the vial shattered.

There was a moment of silence as all eyes were drawn to the prismatic cloud that briefly hovered around her hand before expanding to encompass all of us, and she grinned from her position on the ground. Suddenly, my ESP cut out, as did my TK.

“Fuck,” the hero spat. “Where did you get _equality_, lady?”

“I told you,” she said as she rose, glaring at him, “you don’t know what you’re stepping into. Leave, Canaveral.” She brushed a few shards of glass off of her gloves hands, then reached into her jacket again and produced a pistol, aiming it squarely at me. “Or I’ll have to do something to your sidekick that I’d rather not.”

Canaveral raised his hands, as did I. “Let’s not be hasty,” he said, his voice low, as he stepped over towards me.

“Ah ah ah!” she tutted. “Stay away from the boy.”

“They’re nonbinary, actually -”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Stay away from them. I know that your powers are magical and equality doesn’t do shit to you - you’re not stepping in front of this gun.”

“...how the hell did you know that.”

She smirked. “The same way I got a vial of equality. Now then. You’re going to turn around and leave. These boys and I are going to go our separate ways. And your new friend is going to live. Sound good?”

There was silence for a moment, then I narrowed my eyes towards Canaveral. “What were you saying about how it would be perfectly safe for me to join you?”

“I don’t think I ever put it in quite those words,” he said. “I think I said something along the lines of ‘experience is the best teacher’.”

“And what am I supposed to be learning from having a _gun_ pointed at my head?”

He shrugged. “What’s it’s like to have a gun pointed at your head, I guess.”

“It won’t be the last time, if you continue on this path,” the buyer commented. “So, heroes? What will it be?”


	18. 1. Scene 17

_Scene 17 - October 15th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Evening  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

“Ready to go, Canaveral?” came the warm voice of Miriam Wright over his earpiece as I changed into my costume.

I pulled on my other glove, flexing my fingers to get it settled properly before I answered. “I’m ready, Anima,” I responded. “What have we got tonight?”

“Anything you see on patrol, as usual,” she told me. “We also have two things for you to check out in particular. One is that tip-off about the Buff Boys making a large sale around midnight - the other just came in, a security guard reporting a metahuman making a ruckus in the junkyard that he’s patrolling. Sending both locations to your heads-up display now.”

“Thanks,” I said, glancing at the miniature map of the city that hovered at one corner of my vision - the lenses of my mask added a number of useful details to my field of view. “Any details on the junkyard meta?”

“They’ve been mostly tossing around the junk, apparently. No hostile actions towards the security guard - although he said that he hiding in the booth, so he may not have been noticed. His description doesn’t match any metas we currently know of, though. Shortish, full-body costume, wearing a flannel shirt over it.”

“Probably a new meta testing out their powers. That description sounds like a homemade costume.”

“Probably, but don’t take any chances,” she warned.

I grinned. “What’s life without taking a few chances?” he asked.

The response that came through the commlink was a sigh. “You don’t know what’s good for you, Abe.”

“Hey! I’m in costume,” I scolded. “You never know when someone might be hacking the comms lines, right?” I struggled to hold back a laugh as I continued, “no sense taking chances!” Another sigh from the motherly woman. “Seriously though, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Powers testing in a junkyard at night? This is not a person who wants to hurt people.”

“Probably.”

“And, just to confirm, I’m not waiting on one of the Journeymen tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Anima agreed. “Its Hypnos’ night for patrol, but since he’s excused from patrols where combat is expected, I have him on console with me. Say hello, Nic.”

“Hello, Nic,” a deep, tired voice commented.

“Hey kid,” I said. “How you doing?”

“...”

“Great to hear it.” I stretched, pulling my arms behind my back and bending backwards until my palms touched the floor, then rose again. “Alright, no sense in waiting for Starling and Loki to get back when we don’t know how long junkyard kid will be there. I’m heading out a few minutes early.”

“Understood.”


	19. 1. Scene 18

_Scene 18 - October 15th_  
_Exterior Junkyard, Late Evening  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

I had to pause briefly to stop a mugging on my way to the junkyard, but I still arrived in good time. “Doesn’t look like they’re here anymore,” I commented. “I’m going to check in with the security guard.” I focused my power as I hopped off the edge and fell towards the ground, leeching away my energy at the last moment to slow my fall so that I landed silently. Unlike most telekinetics, I could affect myself, which allowed me to do fun tricks like... well, like that.

“Canaveral!” cried the guard as he landed. A middle-aged man, somewhat overweight and beginning to go bald - no wonder he hadn’t challenged the intruding meta, I thought, then immediately felt guilty for thinking. “Thank god you’re here! She just left.” He pointed eastward. “That way,” he added, unnecessarily.

“Of course,” I assured him. “We of the New Champions take these kinds of reports very seriously. I’ll follow the meta in just a moment, but first, can you give any more details about what you saw?”

A few minutes later, I returned to the skyline. The guard had described the meta moving erratically and throwing things around without touching them - some sort of telekinesis, likely not entirely under control, I concluded, and Anima agreed over console.

“I just hope I’m able to catch up with her,” I muttered to myself more than her. “I know getting these briefings from the witnesses helps, but it’s so slow.”

“Fortunately,” came Nic’s voice in his ear, “I projected out there to find the meta while you were talking to the guard.” After an experimental magical operation to cure his degenerating hearing when he was younger, Niccolo Mellas’s senses had been spatially disconnected from his body. He could project the point that he saw and heard from at high speeds, and still report back from his own body. “As of about thirty seconds ago, she was at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Grossman Street, heading east.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Hypnos,” I said, and launched myself onwards.


	20. 1. Scene 19

_Scene 19 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

It was only a few moments later that I caught up to her, and I paused briefly on a rooftop to get a good look before dropping in. “I can confirm the guard’s description,” I said. “Looks like she’s somewhere between 5’ and 5’6”, maybe on the taller end of that range, dark-colored bodysuit including a full face mask, wearing a plaid shirt. I’m going to go say hello.” I stood and called, “Hello there!” as I spoke - in my experience, people could tell when you smiled while speaking to them, and responded better to it. I had chosen to leave my chin exposed in my costume for much the same reason.

The costumed figure below froze the moment I stood, almost before I had spoken. “What brings you out so late on this fine evening?”

“Canaveral?!?” came the incredulous response. A deeper voice than I would have expected from a shortish woman, I couldn’t help but note.

I saluted, again deliberately projecting a friendly, irreverent demeanor - not that I _wasn__’t _friendly and irreverent, of course - and leapt down to land in front of her. “That’s me,” I confirmed, smiling.

From up close, I could see more details of the meta’s costume. It clearly wasn’t homemade, as I had guessed at first - a pair of white boots were clearly crafted of some sort of tough, armor-like plastic, as were the gauntlets that were mostly covered by the plaid. The darkness of the bodysuit wasn’t completely black, from up close - it bore an faint, irregular pattern in purple, although I wasn’t sure of what. It definitely wasn’t just painted on, though - it almost looked like it was floating within the fabric.

“I have a poster of you in my bedroom!” she cried.

I chuckled. Yeah, this was no villain in the making. Villains didn’t idolize heroes. Well, they usually didn’t. I lifted a hand to one of my cowl’s fins as though touching a button, to signal to the kid that I was speaking to Anima, and said, “I don’t think she’s a threat, console.”

“Understood,” my fellow hero confirmed.

“What’s your name, young lady?” I asked the young meta, dropping my hand back to where it had been resting on my hip. “And what were you doing in the junkyard? Powers testing, right?”

“I’m not a lady. They/them pronouns,” the kid said.

“Apologies,” I told them, guild writhing in my chest for a moment. I screwed up Loki’s pronouns on occasion too, and it always left me feeling like a shit, accident or not - I hoped that they would let it pass. Best to just continue, I decided. “My questions still stand, though. What’s your name, kid?”

It was a few seconds before they answered - probably trying to think of a name. I remembered that giddy time just after getting his powers, and not being able to come up with a name for a while. “Call me Newton for now, sir,” she said after a moment.

I decided to chuckle again. “I’m no sir,” I told her. “Just Canaveral is fine. Or Navi, if you’re feeling up to it,” I offered. “It’s what most of the Champions call me, since four syllables is a bit long.”

“Since when?” asked Nic. Wasn’t he supposed to be learning comms discipline?

“I think I’ll stick with Canaveral.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, shrugging. “Junkyard?”

“Oh! Sorry,” she - fuck, _they _said. “Yeah, it was powers testing, like you thought.”

“Mind if I ask what you found out?” Standard protocol - learn everything you can about the powers of other metas, hostile or not.

Newton scratched at the back of their neck. Probably nervous - maybe embarrassed? “Nothing too exciting,” they said quietly. “ESP and telekinesis, sort of.”

They seemed a little down, and I could never bear to see that. Well, I usually tried to keep the exact details of my power secret, but... “Hey, me too!” I told them, offering a high five.

It took them a moment before they responded. “I thought you had some kind of superstrength?”

“Nah. I control the kinetic energy of the things I touch,” I said. “Lets me pull off some tricks that usually require super strength, sure, but its a bit more versatile in some ways. Less in others, admittedly.” That was a pretty big oversimplification - my power was fueled by magic, so was shaped by my instinctive understanding of how kinetic energy worked. I _should_ have been able to use it to do things like silence noises, freeze objects, or set them aflame, but I had trouble wrapping my head around kinetic energy on scales that small. “I sometimes have to ask Vulcan to help open the pickle jar,” I joked.

Newton nodded knowingly. “I usually go for the table saw when I have that issue,” they commented, then suddenly clapped their hands over their mouth.

It took Abe a moment to decipher that, then I couldn’t help but laugh - a real, genuine, belly laugh this time, not my usual act. “I like you, Newton!” I decided. “That kind of sense of humor is rare.”

“Not rare enough,” Miriam muttered into my ear. No wonder Nic was learning bad habits.

I ignored her. “Want to join me in the next leg of my patrol?”

“Really?” Newton asked.

“Experience is the best teacher,” I explained, “particularly when you have someone to help guide you. Besides, I’m just off to bust a drug deal - shouldn’t be any trouble for two heroes like us!”

“_No_,” Anima told me sternly. “That drug deal is too dangerous for someone with no training, no metas there or not!” I continued to ignore her. _I_ was the leader of the New Champions, not her, and I wanted to take a chance on this kid.

“I... I don’t even know if I want to _be_ a hero!”

“Really?” That was a surprise. “That costume looks pretty professional.”

They looked away a little. “I kind of... found this costume. It activated my powers.”

That... was suspicious. Not the idea of a special costume triggering powers, necessarily - there were metagenes that could be triggered by almost anything - but just _finding_ a suit like that? “Where?” I asked.

“My patent’s attic. My mom made it.” the kid claimed.

“On second thought,” Anima murmured into my ear, “you ought to stick with them for a bit. It’s still possible that this is all above-board, but it seems unlikely. And try to find out their capabilities.”


	21. 1. Scene 20

_Scene 20 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Kaufman_

Learning the details of Newton’s powers wasn’t very difficult - the kid was happy to share what details they had learned about their ESP/TK combo. Not an uncommon set of psychic powers, although ESP paired with telepathy more often than telekinesis, but the specific manifestation of the telekinesis in particular was a little unusual. I gave them a suggestion or two to increase their mobility so that they’d be able to keep up with me, then simply watched.

Miriam made occasional comments over my earpiece, although I didn’t bother to respond to most of them as I watched Newton practicing using her - _their, _dammit_ -_ TK to move. I was more interested in making sure they didn’t hurt themself as they learned how to land safely than listening to Anima quietly inform me that Newton now had a preliminary MLED file giving them rankings of Self Buff 1 (Sensory) and Area Control 2 (Kinetic)* - I had never thought it was a very useful system for sorting powers anway, spreading some kinds of powers too thinly and packing too many others into one rating. Self Buff in particular covered so many different kinds of powers, from enhanced strength to extra senses to super-speed, that it was barely useful.

As Newton started to grow more confident in landings, I began to lead them across the city and toward the site that the drug deal was meant to be going down. “Any more details on that deal, Console?” I quietly asked Anima.

“Yes, actually,” she said. “The same anonymous source called in to say that none of the Buff Boys’ metas would be there.”

I furrowed my brow. “That doesn’t seem likely, not with a sale as big as this one is meant to be.”

“Agreed, but that’s the word.”

I couldn’t help but grin when Newton let out a joyous whoop as they leapt across 3rd Street. It was nice to see young metahumans take joy in their powers, as a surprising number seemed to view them as a curse. Take young Nic - he had only joined the Journeymen to get help training his sensory projection ability, which even now occasionally sent his senses to random locations when he was asleep. He had no intention of becoming a hero, which was why he was excused from combat patrols - in fact, to the best of my knowledge he had no intention of using his powers in his future career at all. Last I had heard, Nic was hoping to get a law degree and become a lawyer.

It seemed strange to me, as I had never wanted to be _anything_ but a hero. But to each their own, I supposed.

“So, what do you think of Newton?” Miriam asked.

“They seem like a good kid,” I responded. “I intend to offer to introduce them to the Champions and the Journeymen whenever they come in to register their powers. Hopefully that will entice them to join.”

“You just want another flippant telekinetic on the team,” she teased. “They even move a lot like you!”

“I won’t deny that,” I admitted with an unashamed grin, “it would be fun to have a mini-me running around. But I do also think they would make a great hero.”

“Their powers would be incredible for search-and-rescue,” Anima agreed. “ESP to locate people, TK to extract them...”

“Exactly. But also, I just think that they seem like a good kid,” I reiterated. “I know first impressions can be deceiving and all, you don’t need to give me the lecture again, _Mom-__”_

“Abe, Nic is right here!” Miriam protested. She didn’t hate being known as the team mom, but she preferred for her role not to be bandied about in public.

“What, you think we kids don’t know how much of a mom you are?” the kid in question asked. “When I came in tonight, you asked me if I had remembered to bring a lunch!”

“The cafeteria food in the overnight shifts is just so unhealthy!” she said before she could stop herself, and both Nic and I laughed.

“My point is,” I continued, getting back on track, “that I think Newton is a good person, and will be a fine hero. They just have to recognize that in themself.”

“What do you mean?” Nic asked.

“I mean that I think they have self-confidence issues. Did you notice how they downplayed their powers when they first mentioned them? Plus, a hell of a lot of people use humor as a way to cover up insecurities.”

“I... didn’t realize, but you’re right,” Miriam admitted, seeming a bit abashed at having missed it. “How did you spot that?”

“Not important,” I said, brushing it away and trying to move the conversation along before they realized - the reason I had spotted Newton’s insecurities so easily was that I had been exactly the same when I was that age. “Anyway, the other reason is that, while I don’t think that they stole the suit, it would be good to have it in an MLED facility where it can be studied. Not to mention that if they _did_ steal it, I doubt it came from a morally-upright institution. They might need protection.”


	22. 1. Scene 21

_Scene 21 - October 15th  
_ _Exterior City, Night  
_ _Abraham Kaufman_

It wasn’t too long before the two metahumans reached the dock where the sale was meant to be going down, and I took a moment to brief Newton on the situation. After a moment of levity that I had to struggle not to laugh at - I was a jokester too, yes, but I knew when to be serious, and briefings were one of those times - Newton asked good questions and, in my opinion, continued to show themself to be insightful and a prime prospect for heroism.

As they waited and I continued to share information with the kid, I kept an eye on the street below. It was dark, sure - all the streetlights in this area of the docks were “mysteriously” dark - but my mask included night vision. It was a necessity for anyone who wanted to leap between buildings at night, as streetlights didn’t send much light in that direction - I idly wondered whether Newton’s suit included night vision, or if their ESP was serving that role. Either way, it clearly worked.

Eventually the buyers arrived, and I sent Newton to flank them - it would serve the dual purpose of keeping the kid out of the fight initially and making people think twice about running away. Personally, I simply flipped over the edge of the building and, with a simple twist of kinetic force, landed softly on my feet.

“Bit late for a walk, isn’t it?” I asked, calling everyone’s attention to him while Newton propelled themself over the oblivious gangsters’ heads. As I approached the mob, I casually rested my hands on my belt - it had been designed by Starling, the New Champions’ resident gadgeteer, and the expanded space within its hidden pockets contained a wide variety of tricks that I wanted close at hand, depending on how the BB responded.

“Canaveral,” the apparent leader of the Buff Boys said in a tone that sounded halfway between anger and exhaustion. “You’ll forget what you saw here if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’m afraid that reliable sources tell me I _don__’t_ know what’s good for me!” I said, quoting Miriam. Regulations said to keep off the comm line during combat situations, but I knew she would be gritting her teeth. I grinned at the thought.

“You really don’t know what you’re stepping into the middle of here,” said the lead buyer, a 30-something woman in a tailored suit. I glanced at her, making sure to hold my gaze long enough that Anima would be able to snag an image of the woman from the camera feed in the fin atop my head. “Walk away.”

I sighed. “You criminal types never come up with anything new,” I commented, palming a handful of ball bearings from my belt in preparation. “It’s always either ‘leave if you know what’s good for you,’ ‘you don’t understand the full picture’, ‘I’ll give you a cut if you keep your mouth shut,’ or ‘hey, it’s that hero guy! Get him!’ Just once, _once_, I’d like it if you did something new. I don’t really care what.” I was stalling, making sure that Newton was ready for what was about to happen, which, from what I could see through the crowd of angry thugs, they seemed to be. It was hard to tell, though - sure, I was probably an inch or two taller than most of the the thugs, but the kid was almost half a foot shorter then _any _of them. “I guess I’ll keep up my end of the script,” I continued. “You’re all under arrest.”

“Get him!” roared the same Buff Boy who had spoken earlier, and most of the thugs rushed me. The rest, Canaveral was glad to note, weren’t going for Newton, who remained unnoticed - rather, they were simply hanging back so as not to get in each other’s way. With the exception of the leader of the buyers, at least - she was hanging back, but clearly wasn’t looking to join in the melee, simply observing.

A flick of the wrist and a mental twist, and the ball bearings I had palmed accelerated to several hundred miles per hour, cracking into gangsters’ shins, knees, and stomachs. All of the ones who had rushed me were sent to their knees, whether by the force or the pain - I had gotten quite good at that trick, and it was really amazing that so many thugs still fell for it every time.

With so many of them on the ground I now had a better view of Newton, who hadn’t moved yet - combat could be startling if you’d never been in it before, I admitted to myself. “Oh, and just so you know, it’s ‘bring your sidekick to work day’ today!” I called, trying to jolt them out of their paralyzed state before they were noticed and attacked. “Feel free to join in any time, Newton!”

They started moving at that, and with a flick of their fingers and a momentary stumble to the side, knocked the leader of the buyers off of her feet. “Your sidekick? Doesn’t that imply a preexisting relationship? We met barely three hours ago!”

“Well, I’m taking it on myself to mentor you,” I pointed out, “at least for tonight. You’re not experienced enough to quality as a partner. You’re not a civilian. If the shoe fits, wear it.” As I spoke, I knelt and began cuffing groaning thugs - it would be a few seconds before those that were still up to a fight would be able to catch their breath and stand, and those who hadn’t rushed him were running - again, minus the leader of the buyers - so I had a moment. Over my earpiece he heard Anima calmly warning the police forces who had the area surrounded about the runners - typically they would have handled the bust too, but with the BB there was always the possibility of metahumans and power drugs being used, so the MLED had been called in and Canaveral sent in to handle the situation.

I had to stop subduing downed thugs when two of them managed to simultaneously get to their feet and produce vials of brawn. “I’ve got this, Newton,” I warned, producing a length of chain from another expanded pocket in his belt and advancing on the thugs. “Make sure none of the others get up.” Their telekinesis should be able to handle that without any trouble.

I twisted the kinetic force within the chain as I struck out at one of the thugs, causing it to shift at the last moment to wrap around the man’s feeble attempt at a guard. His mistake - the touch-range of my kinetic manipulation abilities extended partially through connected objects, and the wrapped chain counted enough that it took only a tug and a slight magnifying twist of energies to send the thug to his knees despite his currently-enhanced strength.

I didn’t have time to gloat though, as the other was boosted too, and the speed-boosting effect of brawn was already allowing them to respond to the swift takedown. It wasn’t a _complicated_ response, just a quick punch, but the Buff Boys weren’t exactly known for their creativity. On the other hand, it would be too strong to block or even parry safely. Simple wasn’t bad, necessarily.

A twist of power and the chain unwrapped from around the first thug’s arms as I dodged to the side, instead looping around the second gangster’s waist. I then twisted once more, shifting the man’s kinetic energy so that the punch overextended and he had to step forward to avoid falling.

In the moment before the thug’s foot landed, I tugged on the chain, another twist causing none of the energy to transfer to the thug but all to me, pulling myself off my feet and towards the man at high speed. I body-slammed the boosted gangster with the force of a car, knocking him to the ground just like the other. I myself rolled over the gangster and landed on my feet.

Both thugs were now on the ground, but even now the first was beginning to rise - it was tough to put down someone on brawn, at least for more than a moment. The combination of toughness from mond and speed from axel was dangerous.

I released my chain with a flick of my wrist, twisting its energy as I did so to cause it to wrap around my target’s legs and arms as well as his waist. I then kicked the fallen thug, launching him a few feet into the legs of the rising one to knock him over once more.

It was at that moment that I heard the sharp sound of glass breaking. I turned to see the buyer lying on her back with one hand in the air, an iridescent rainbow cloud of mist hovering around that hand. She grinned from where she lay, and the mist swiftly expanded across the street until all that could be seen of it was a faint tinge to the air - an extra rainbow reflection to the world.

“Fuck,” I swore, my eyes flicking to Newton, unsure how she - _they_ \- would be affected. “Where did you get _equality_, lady?” Equality was one of the oldest, rarest, and most dangerous power drugs. It could be absorbed through the skin, penetrated through cloth, and took effect almost immediately. Anyone with a metahuman power that had any basis in their own biology would be unable to use it for as long as the drug lasted, their nervous system no longer able to handle nonstandard signals. Those whose powers were based in magic, such as mine were, would be unaffected, and so were some of those whose powers were cosmic, but not all.

“I told you you don’t know what you’re stepping into,” the buyer sneered as she rose, brushing shards of glass that must have come from the shattered vial of equality off of her gloves. She then produced a sizable handgun and pointed it at Newton. “Leave, Canaveral. Or I’ll have to do something to your sidekick that I’d rather not.”

Both Newton and I raised our hands, and I began moving towards the kid. My kinetic power could let me deflect bullets that struck him, if I was ready for it, and if she didn’t know that my power was still available then she might allow me to step in front - a gun like that gun would easily punch through me and into Newton, if not for my power. “Let’s not be hasty,” I said, trying to stall until I could get in front of the kid.

“Ah ah ah! Stay away from the boy,” she warned.

“They’re nonbinary, actually,” I started.

“Whatever. Stay away from them. I know that your powers are magical and equality doesn’t do shit to you - you’re not stepping in front of this gun.”

“...how the hell did you know that.” Only one group knew that my powers were magical, as far as I knew.

“The same way I got a vial of equality,” she teased. “Now then. You’re going to turn around and leave. These boys and I are going to go our separate ways. And your new friend is going to live. Sound good?”

That was a very bad sign, I thought, as unfortunately her claim added up. The Ambrosia Company was definitely able to procure equality.

“Do it,” Anima hissed in my ear. “The police can pick them up as they try to leave. Do _not_ endanger that kid’s life any more than you already have!” I had to concur - it pained me to let someone like this woman walk even for a moment, but I had no choice.

Newton tilted their head towards me. “What were you saying about how it would be perfectly safe for me to join you?”

“I don’t think I ever put it in quite those words,” I protested. “I think I said something along the lines of ‘experience is the best teacher’.”

“And what am I supposed to be learning from having a _gun_ pointed at my head?”

I shrugged. “What’s it’s like to have a gun pointed at your head, I guess.”

“It won’t be the last time, if you continue on this path,” the buyer commented. “So, heroes? What will it be?”


	23. 1. Scene 22

_Scene 22 - October 16th  
_ _Exterior Docks, Night  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

After an instant that felt like weeks, the world holding its breath as I stared down the barrel of a gun, a sigh came from behind the buyer.

“You know,” said a new voice, “I really thought you guys could handle this.” The sound of snapping fingers, and the woman’s gun vanished in a twist of smoke. “I’m glad I kept an eye out after all. You should be ashamed of yourself, Canaveral, bringing an untrained Journeyman into something like this.”

The buyer whirled on the newcomer as Canaveral and I turned our attention his way. He was a slender man in a well-tailored tuxedo, blood red and shining white. A white domino mask hid his identity without hiding his good looks, and he was toying with a top hat in one hand.

“Of _course_ it’s you,” the buyer sneered. “What is it with our patrons getting in the way tonight? Is Starling going to show up next? Has Brewer sabotaged our purchase?”

The magician-looking man shrugged. “If you don’t want me interfering, you could offer me something in return. Or simply not conduct your business on my doorstep.” He smiled at Canaveral. “Hey Navi.”

The hero grinned back. “Max. Does this mean that you were the one who called in with that anonymous tip?”

I recognized the newcomer now, after Canaveral called him by his name. It was the Magnificent Maxwell[1], a local villain who themed himself after a stage magician, performing magically-enhanced tricks of prestidigitation and misdirection to commit his crimes - mostly theft, mostly from museums. Why was he helping us?

“Yeah, that was me,” Maxwell agreed. “These assholes were _literally_ setting up a drug deal right outside my current hideout. I really don’t know what they expected.”

“Excuse me,” said the buyer in an icy voice, “I’m still here.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out _another_ pistol, even larger than the other one, and pointed it at Max. How the hell had that fit in there?

He just snapped his fingers again and the second gun vanished as easily as the first. “Why did you think it would work the second time if it didn’t work the first?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not like equality does anything to me.”

“It’s a bit of an inconvenience for my friend here, though,” Canaveral said, inclining his head towards me. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” The magician made a wide, sweeping gesture, and the faint rainbow tint that the mist had added to the world vanished - I felt my ESP return with a momentary lance of pain to the back of my skull, as my brain readjusted to having an extra sensory input. “And since I’m feeling generous...” He swept his arm the other way, and all the fallen thugs were suddenly bound up in chains that coalesced out of thin air, as was the woman who had led the buyers.

“You’ll pay for this, Maxwell Copperfield,” she warned, glaring at the man. “Ambrosia won’t take this kind of interference lying down. You-” She was cut off by the sudden appearance of a gag across her mouth. Who was Ambrosia? I made a note to look it up later.

“Thank you, Max,” Canaveral said, walking over to the man. “It’s always nice to have you helping instead of hindering. Have you reconsidered joining the good guys?”

“Have the MLED expanded their library of magical knowledge?”

“Well...”

“Then no.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Um...” They both turned to face me.

“Ah yes. Max, this is a recently-empowered metahuman, currently using the nomme-de-plume of Newton,” Canaveral introduced. “They’re considering their options for when they register with the MLED, and are currently taking advantage of the vigilante rules to get a taste of heroing.” I hadn’t realized there were such rules, actually - I had just trusted that Canaveral knew what he was doing. “Newton, this is Maxwell-”

“The _Magnificent_ Maxwell,” the Magnificent Maxwell interjected.

“-the Magnificent Maxwell, a petty thief.”

He crossed his arms. “A _petty_ thief? I take offense, Navi.”

The hero shrugged. “If the shoe fits, wear it. You’re a thief, Max. Accept it.”

“I’m an _artist,_” he insisted. “Thievery is simply a necessity in my line of work.”

“Arthur Peregrine doesn’t need to steal.”

“Men like Arthur Peregrine hoarding all the magical texts is _exactly the problem_-”

“I hate to interrupt,” I said sarcastically, “but shouldn’t we be arresting you right now?”

“Ah, my sidekick brings up a good point.”

“Not your sidekick,” I muttered.

He flapped a hand dismissively. “Have you done anything tonight that I need to arrest you for?”

“Not in your sight, at least.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Then I’ll be off, while you explain to the new kid what’s what.” He tipped his hat to Canaveral respectfully.

“Hold on! The keys to those chains?” the hero requested.

“Ah yes.” Maxwell dropped a keyring into his hand. “Terribly sorry, completely slipped my mind.” He then produced a large black sheet from within the jacket of his tuxedo and tossed it into the air. It obscured him from view as it fell, and when it hit the ground he was gone. A moment later, the sheet simply evaporated as well.

[1]


	24. 1. Scene 23

_Scene 23 - October 16th  
_ _Exterior Docks, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“Well, that could have gone better,” Canaveral sighed.

“Yeah, I got a _gun_ pointed at my head,” I complained. “And you just let a supervillain get away!”

He shrugged. “That bit wasn’t as bad as you think, really. If Max hadn’t shown up, I would have let them leave and they’d just get picked up by the police that are surrounding this area. Speaking of which...” He pressed a hand to one of his cowl’s fins. “Send them in, please. As for Max, well... there are parts of this whole thing that a lot of people don’t realize.”

“Such as?”

“First off, there are supervillains and then there are _supervillains_,” he said. “Not everyone is an insane murderer like Cobalt Red or Graviton. Hell, not everyone is an incidental killer like Motael or Voltage. In fact, most villains try to avoid killing - particularly in New Venice, where the Mountain King redefined the rules of engagement back when he was active.

“Second has to do with secret identities. See, the MLED knows a decent number of villains’ identities,” the hero explained, “but we don’t make use of that information. Because there are also villains who know heroes’ identities - DMO servers aren’t as secure as they like to pretend, unfortunately - and there’s a truce of sorts to lave those secret identities out of the whole hero-villain business. If we go after them in their identities, they’ll come after us and our families, and vice versa.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” I commented as police officers began appearing and arresting various chained up thugs. One of them approached Canaveral and took custody of the keys that Maxwell had left.

“Exactly.”

“I guess I can see why Max might not be a high priority, if he’s no killer,” I ventured, “but he was _right there!_”

“I was getting to that. See, the other reason that identities are off limits is that there are so many shapeshifters, illusionists, roboticists, cloners, and the like out there.” He sighed. “And while it’s not exactly likely, it’s happened enough that someone thought to be committing a crime was actually being impersonated that any competent lawyer can get a case thrown out, if the arrest is only based on identity. Even between different appearances of the same costumed persona.”

“So...” I considered this for a moment. “Are you saying that you can’t arrest Maxwell because you didn’t actually see him commit a crime?” I asked. “And if you arrested him for previous crimes, his lawyer would argue that they were the work of an imposter?”

“That’s essentially it, yeah,” the hero confirmed. “It’s a pain, I know, but it’s the way it works. It’s pretty much impossible to connect different appearances of a costumed person in a way that stands up legally without using their actual identity. So even though I know that, say, Max stole a book on ancient English magical artifacts last month - even though I was there and saw him do it,” he complained, “I can’t arrest Max for it _tonight, _because it could have been an imposter back then.”

“...that seems kind of stupid and contrived.”

Canaveral sighed heavily. “Tell me about it, kid. I don’t mind all that much for Max - he’s not actually a bad person even if he’s a thief - but for some people...” he shook his head. “Anyway. The point of all that is that the MLED - which loves ranking people in fours, by some reason - has created a four-tiered system for how to respond to supervillains. Basically, it ranks people by threat level - low, medium, high, plus a null ranking for vigilantes - and gives guidelines on how to respond to people on each level.

“Max is ranked as a low threat despite his power and skill, because he makes an effort to be non-lethal - more than that, to not even really harm anyone. Since he’s ranked low, I ignore what I know of his identity and let him go, unless he’s committing a crime in front of me or I have reason to believe that he’s about to.”

“So he didn’t break the law tonight,” I said, working it out, “and he’s obviously about to go and move his hideout, so you don’t try to take him in.”

Canaveral stared at me. “Yeah, basically. Move his hideout?”

“He mentioned that the drug deal was happening right outside his hideout, and that’s why he sent in an anonymous tip,” I defended my reasoning. “That narrows his location down to just these four buildings here. He knows you know that now, so he’s probably going to move - it’s not like it’ll be much of a problem for him if he can teleport like that.”

“Well reasoned, kid,” the hero said after a moment. “Mazel tov.” I blushed at the praise, and found myself grateful for the mask that hid my face from my hero. “But honestly, I know Max pretty well. He’s probably not going to bother to move.”

“What would move Maxwell up the threat ranking?” I smirked. “If he started to act intelligently, and moved his hideout?”

Canaveral chuckled for a moment, before telling me, “If he started to kill or seriously injure heroes or civilians, that would automatically take him up to mid threat. His hammerspace magic is potentially very dangerous, especially since he’s recently expanded into teleportation, so he might even be bumped to high threat.”

“Is the only difference between mid and high how actively dangerous they are?” I asked, “with low being people who stick to non-lethal regardless of potential danger?”

“It’s all about expected danger, at least theoretically,” he said. “In low, serious injury or death is considered unlikely, whether because of a lack of power on their part or because of a lack of intent. In mid, it’s considered a strong possibility. In high, it’s considered nearly a guarantee.”

“That’s... not a lot of gradation.”

Canaveral shrugged. “Take it up with Director Shepard. I didn’t design the system - I complain about it for the same reason, actually. Same for the power classification system.”

“What’s that like?”

He glanced at his wrist for a moment, then at the police officers - they had finished carting away the subdued gangsters, and now seemed to be waiting for us to finish talking. “You know what? My patrol is nearly finished, and the officers here need to get our statements on this fight down before you can head home and I can head back to the MLED Compound for another debrief _there. _Why don’t you come around to the Compound in a few days, when I’m on-call instead of patrolling, and I can answer more questions then? I’ll introduce you to the Journeymen and any other members of the Champions that are around. That way you can see who you might be working with if you decide to register as a hero, and get more testimonials than just mine.”

I tilted my head at him. “You really think I’m still considering being a hero after having a gun pointed at me the first time I ever go out in costume?”

He gazed at me appraisingly. “Yes, I think you are. Are you?”

“... enough that I’m tempted to take you up on the offer of introductions for more reasons than just fangirling over Anima,” I admitted.

Canaveral wore an odd expression in response to my joke, but after a moment he said, “Then come on out. Worst case scenario, you don’t like what you hear, and you decide to register with either the MED or MMD. Or just the DMO generally, I suppose, if you’re not going to use your powers in your career.”

I thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t a difficult decision, though, as it wasn’t exactly final. It shouldn’t even require me to make my decision when I came in, since I still had almost the entire one-month grace period. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” and talk to my dad about this crazy night, “but I should be able to. What would be the best time?”

“Well...”


	25. 1. Intermission: Scene 1

_Scene 1 - June 27th  
_ _Interior High Stakes Bar, Evening  
_ _Miriam Wright_

Abe stared at the Magnificent Maxwell, matching gazes, refusing to back down. He wouldn’t lose this time, not again.

Max smirked. “Scared, Abe?”

“Not even a little,” he said, matching the magician smirk for smirk. “Let’s do this.”

They simultaneously picked up their glasses and downed them.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked, having only just arrived.

“Hey Miriam,” Ben said with a sigh. “It’s been almost ten minutes. They just keep staring each other down and flirting with each other between the drinks, it’s kind of nauseating.”

“Who got them started?”

Ben pointed at Emilia. She shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “Max downed his whole beer after he sat down, and I asked if they broke up because Abe couldn’t keep up with his drinking. Then...” She laughed, the statuesque woman’s voice like silver bells tinkling. “Ben may find it nauseating, but _I_ think it’s adorable.”

“I think it’s great that they’re still friends even after breaking up,” commented Allesandra from where she sat in her girlfriend’s lap. She smiled up at me. “How are you, Miri?”

“You think everything is great,” I teased her as I took a seat. “I’m doing well, thanks for asking. How about you two?”

“I’m great!” came the immediate response, and everyone laughed. Except for Max and Abe, of course, who were still engrossed in what passed for a drinking contest between the two competitive men.

“And you, Maria?”

Maria, simply shrugged. She was a lot quieter than Essa, usually speaking up only to offer the occasional snarky comment.

I couldn’t help but smile, seeing all my friends gathered together. It was an odd little circle, considering that half of them were supervillains and the other half were superheroes, and she knew that Director Shepard had never understood it - on the other end of things, Essa often complained about other villains who didn’t get it either.

But it was good to have contacts on the other side, as I always said in defense. Not only was it possible to pick up useful information from them, it helped keep things less lethal when they had to come to blows.

Besides, I had known Essa since college, and I wasn’t going to lose the friendship of a ray of sunshine like her just because she broke the law on a regular basis. And hey, I had gotten into the hero business to _help people_, not to enforce the law, and it was undeniable that things had gotten better for sex workers in New Venice since the Crows had taken over the entire market and taken strict measures to ensure their safety. Not to mention how much regulation they’d brought to gambling houses.

“Do you think they know that they’re both cheating?” I quietly asked Maria.

The slim woman nodded. “I think that’s half the point,” she murmured. “They should really just get back together again, we all know they want to.”

“Oh no they shouldn’t!” Emilia objected. “You know I have my eye on...” she trailed off, glancing between the two men as they chugged yet another set of glasses, and bit her lip. “On one of them, at least. I don’t really care which.”

“Why not both?” Essa suggested.

The shape-shifting heroine smiled. “You might have the right idea there...”


	26. 1. Intermission: Scene 2

_Scene 2 - September 2nd  
_ _Bellini Archives, Late Evening  
_ _Maxwell Copperfield_

I was inconspicuously clad in simply a hoodie and sweatpants tonight, and for once I wasn’t wearing the usual facial glamour that showed my true beauty to the world, instead reluctantly showing the bland face that I was born with. No one would associate the average-looking man hiding his shape with the glory that was The Magnificent Maxwell.

It wasn’t something I liked doing - I normally kept up the glamour even when I was in civilian guise, and I had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to my body. But tonight I was trying to be stealthy. You might think that stealth goes against my nature as a magician, but you’d be wrong. After all, slight of hand is the cornerstone of everything we do - and that’s what tonight was all about.

I had hired an old friend of mine from my stage days to pose as me for the night, applying the glamour to him instead of me and lending him one of my suits so that he was indistinguishable from me. Dave was currently performing his usual act downtown, very visibly. The MLED would be bound to have their eyes on him, worrying about what I was intending, and wouldn’t be paying attention to the Archives at all. Classic misdirection.

It would most likely reveal that I had command of some illusion magic as well as the dimensional pockets I was known to use, but in truth it wasn’t much of a loss. The only illusion spell I knew was the one which produced my true appearance, and I hadn’t yet been lucky enough to have come across texts on further illusory magic. The dimensional pockets I tapped into came much more easily to me - in fact, I was on the trail of how to add kinetic energy to objects when I summoned them back into the world, and I had high hopes that that discovery could lead in the direction of manipulating kinetic energy without pulling things into a pocket dimension. If I could do that, I would have nothing to worry about from my stupidly handsome boyfriend -

But I digress.

I was inconspicuously clad as I approached the Archives. They were closed at this time, but the front windows were glass, which meant that the lock was no obstacle to me despite counting as part of the building to my dimensional magic and thus being out of the mass range of my pockets.

For now. I was working on it - the limitation that kept me from pocketing only parts of objects was a stubborn one, and I had made no progress yet on breaking it. I was sure I would at some point, but so far it had been far easier to improve the range of mass that I could store. In the last year alone I had gone from being able to pocket anything less than a metric ton, to up to two and a half tons at once, with my total mass limit across all pockets being the same, and I saw no reason to expect the improvement not to continue.

In any case, it was good that the windows were glass. I could have picked the lock, obviously, but while my lockpicking skill was excellent, as all my abilities were, it was perhaps a little _less_ excellent. And besides, there could be an alarm on it. But since the windows were glass, I could simply peer through and teleport inside.

Well, it’s not teleportation, exactly - I open a dimensional pocket where I’m standing while opening it where I’m looking, and am immediately spit out on the other end. Proper teleportation wouldn’t require me to see the target, would be instantaneous instead of taking about a second, and would be able to cover any distance instead of being limiting to the range that I can open pockets, which is still only about 45 feet. My range is improving, of course, but it’s good enough for theater.

I found myself inside, and with a sigh of relief, I pocketed my current outfit while simultaneously releasing my suit, and was dressed as I should be. I took a deep breath in preparation for the illusion - as I said, it doesn’t come to me quite as naturally as dimensional magic does - and apply my glamour.

Finally, myself again.

I opened a few pockets around me and allowed a faint tracing of stage haze to leak through as I began to make my way through the building. The information I had received on my target indicated that there were laser wires in the lower levels, and contrary to what Hollywood would have you believe, lasers are not visible to the naked eye. Stage haze would show them without blocking their receivers, and being forewarned, I could simply teleport through. The security cameras, meanwhile, would...

Damn it, I always forgot about something!

Well, it would take some time for Vulcan, who should be on patrol tonight, to get to the Archives from where he was likely watching my decoy - he didn’t have great speed. Plus, he had only graduated from the Journeymen to the New Champions a few weeks ago - he should be no trouble to evade even after he arrived.

It only took me a few minutes to get to where I was going. After all, I wasn’t going to the boring layers of the Archive that were deeper down, where they stored the things that were too valuable to display openly in the Higgins Museum - I was just going to the first sub-basement, which held books that were of little interest to any but the most avid researchers.

Which, for this particular book, included me.

My target was a thesis called _Ancient English Magicians: Tracking Their Artifacts Through History, _which had been written a few decades ago by some historian called Mark H. Dallas. It did exactly what it claimed to - tracked magical artifacts created by ancient English magicians like Merlin and the Raven King to discover where they had ended up in the modern day. The particular artifact that I was interested in was a book that had supposedly been written by Merlin as an introductory text to magic of all kinds. I was quite skilled with my dimensional pockets, but there were so many types of magic and ways to cast it that it would take a century to expand my knowledge if that was my only starting point, even if my hopes of learning kinetic manipulation bore fruit. Something as simple as a broad introductory text could jump my studies ahead by decades.

I hate Arthur Peregrine above all other men in the world. He had been lucky enough to start with healing magic when he began learning, and had stumbled upon a type of ageless immortality early on in his career. Over the last two centuries he’s amassed enough magical knowledge to make him the greatest mage since Merlin himself, or so the man claims. But did he shared his magical knowledge as Merlin did? No.

He did share his healing power, I had to admit, and the man is without a doubt the greatest healer in the world. The one day a week that he appears in Peregrine Hospital and heals every man, woman, and child within its walls of all that ails them has saved countless lives since he began the practice, almost fifty years ago now. But how many more might have been saved if he spent another one day a week teaching his mastery of healing magic?

But I digress.

I had pocketed the thesis with little difficulty - I had ended up having to pick a lock after all, as it was locked in a cabinet, but it had been a rather simple lock - and made my way back upstairs to an unpleasant surprise.

“Words cannot possibly express how disappointed I am in you, Max,” said my boyfriend. “Not only are you stealing, not only did you seem to expect me to be fooled by such a transparent ruse as simply placing a doppelganger on the other side of the city, but you missed your date with Emilia last night!”

I sighed. “What are you doing here, Abe? I thought Vulcan was supposed to be patrolling tonight.”

“I’m covering his shift, obviously - he has a date that he _isn__’t_ missing. And you have a date too - with Chief Harrison.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hugo Harrison couldn’t get a date with me if he offered me Arthur Peregrine’s head on a platter. I’m way out of his league.”

Abe shrugged. “You’re the one who decided to break into the Archives.”

“They’re the ones who set up a system that kept me from accessing this thesis legitimately! Just because I don’t have a degree they consider connected to the damn thing -” I started.

He sighed. “I’m not in the mood for this right now, Max, and I’ve heard all your spiels before. Just put it back, and come back home to us. To me.”

“...this is the same thing that broke us up last time, Abe. And you know that I haven’t changed.”

“...maybe it was a bad idea to try again.”

“...maybe. At least we had another three months of bliss.”

Abe laughed. “Bliss might be understating it!” We both grinned at each other, thinking of nights out, with and without Emilia. And, of course, of nights in, with and without Emilia...

And then I summoned a sandbag over his head and he launched himself at me with the force of an oncoming car.

Relationships are hard.


	27. Act 2: In Circling Flight - Scene 1

**Act 2**

**In Circling Flight**

_Quiet birds in circling flight,_

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

_Scene 1 - October 18th  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Early Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I didn’t get a chance to visit Dad for a day or two, too busy with schoolwork - my night out as a hero had left me exhausted, and my tiredness had made me slower than usual as I plodded through schoolwork - but before long he had recovered from his most recent relapse and was on the way home. I was making him dinner to welcome him home, but hadn’t had time to shop for anything special. That meant it was Italian food - New Venice was heavily populated by Italian immigrants, and ingredients for their favorite dishes were always in ready supply.

I had timed it well - he stepped in through the door just as I was straining the spaghetti. “Home agin, an' home to stay— / Yes, it's nice to be away. / Plenty things to do an' see, / But the old place seems to me / Jest about the proper thing,” he declared. “Are those meatballs I smell, Quinn?”

“They sure are!” I called back. “Come get something to drink, dinner’s just about ready!”

“Excellent!” My father stepped into the room, beaming at me, and took a glass from the cupboard. “Just water tonight, I think.” As I filled his glass, he said, “Paul Lawrence Dunbar, by the way. One of the first influential black poets in America.”

I went to hug him. “Welcome home, dad.”

He hugged me back, then released me and took a plate. “So how did the power testing go? Defeat any supervillains?”

“Ran into a one and was rescued by Aegis, who offered to give me his power,” I joked.

“Now that doesn’t seem very likely. Are you sure you’re not just offering him the credit for what you did, to stay out of the gang’s eyes?”

“You caught me - it was a giant dragon that I defeated by throwing a spider into his mouth.”

“Not surprised. Dragons notoriously hate spiders. Ancient enemies.”

“I thought spiders hated octopi? 8-legged rivals, you know.”

“Well, sort of. Really the octopusses just wish they were spiders.”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to be a spider?”

We laughed as we served each other - I spooned spaghetti onto two plates while Dad scooped out the meatballs. “But seriously, kiddo, what happened?”

“Well,” I said, taking a bite, “it did actually go pretty well. I went to a junkyard about ten minutes away and played around with my powers - pretty much what we thought they were, ESP and telekinesis. The telekinesis has a weird backlash effect where the same force gets applied to me, but that actually turned out to be pretty useful for moving around. I can walk on walls if I do it right, and jump pretty crazy distances by pushing against the ground.”

“How much force can you exert?” Dad asked. “Is it possible for you to hurt yourself with the backlash? You should be careful.”

“It is,” I said, wincing. “I’ve been super sore for the last two days. It wasn’t as bad the first day, but I tried a moon hop out of costume yesterday and, well, turns out that the PA4 reduces the backlash some. Or maybe makes me physically tougher, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s not something that applies when I’m not wearing it.” I poked at my food for a moment. “Similar thing with the ESP, actually, just a little more low-key. When I can feel too much with it - while I’m outside, really - it starts to build up a headache over time. Again, the suit seems to help reduce that.”

“Maybe you’ll get better at that over time,” Dad offered. “The TK backlash sounds like it’s inherent to the force, but the headache might just be your brain having trouble dealing with so much extra information.”

“I hope so.” I took another bite, then continued. “And then on the way home...” I told Dad about how the night had become the best of my life - how I had met my personal hero, Canaveral, and he had taken me under his wing!

“...and you know, he seemed pretty exasperated with Maxwell, but they also seemed to be pretty... I dunno, intimate with each other? I was getting some kind of relationship vibe there. If they were exes they seemed pretty friendly. Oh, and then we worked out that I can visit the MLED Compound on Sunday, and he’ll introduce me to the other heroes!” I finished, excitedly.

Dad was silent for a moment. “Can we go back to the part where you had a _gun_ pointed at your head, and you completely glossed over it?”

“Oh yeah. That.”

“Yes, _that_, Quinn!” he snapped. “I told you to be careful, didn’t I? I told you to steer clear of the gangs! And you ran right into danger!”

“I was with Canaveral!” I defended myself. “He wouldn’t let me get hurt! And I have superpowers now, anyway!”

“Oy gavalt, You didn’t have superpowers when that woman was threatening you!” Dad ran his fingers through his hair, a habit we shared when we were angry or stressed. “Why isn’t this phasing you, kid?”

“Because...” I thought back, trying to decipher my feelings. “Well,” I began, “it certainly frightened me at the time. It was only aimed at me for probably 30 seconds at most, but it felt like weeks. But afterward, it seems... I dunno, less important?

“I guess I knew that Canaveral wouldn’t let me be hurt,” I continued. “I mean, he mentioned afterward that if Maxwell hadn’t stepped in he would have let them go, and the police would have grabbed them since the area was surrounded. But even in the moment, his first instinct when I was seriously threatened was to step towards me. I think he probably would have even if the equality had taken away his powers too. He’s a real hero, you know?” I smiled to myself a little. “If I can be half the man he is, I’ll have reason to be proud.”

Dad spent a few minutes digesting this, and I took our finished plates into the kitchen. When I came back, he finally responded. “What would you have done if Canaveral wasn’t there? You won’t always have a partner as a superhero.”

“For one thing, I wouldn’t have gone into that situation without training, if he wasn’t there,” I said. “And anyway, I don’t even know if I want to be a hero yet. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to decide on Sunday.”

He sighed. “I know you’ve always wanted to change the world, Quinn, to make a positive difference. You’re really telling me that you don’t want to be a hero?”

“...yeah, well... childhood dreams aren’t always realistic,” I said, quietly. “I’m just one person, and I know how rare it is for individual people to affect much. If I can contribute a little... that’s why I want to be a metahuman doctor, you know? If I can save the real heroes, the ones who actually _can_ change things...”

“You can change things too, Quinn,” Dad insisted.

“Sure,” I said, not really believing him. “Seems fake, but okay.”

Dad shook his head, seeming a little sad. “I can’t believe that thing holding you back isn’t the gun, it’s that you _don__’t think you can be a hero_.” He looked at me again. “You should take Canaveral up on his invitation,” he said. “Just be careful. And please, whatever they may say, don’t go on patrol or anything without getting training.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I assured him. “And again, I really don’t think I’m going to register as a hero anyway. Being a doctor is already aiming high enough.”


	28. 2. Scene 2

_Scene 2 - October 20th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Late Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

The MLED Compound was a huge building, stretching out over a full block. Rumors said that it held everything from teleporters to other compounds in other cities, to underground shooting ranges, to a full-sized baseball diamond.

I didn’t really believe those rumors - the size of the building was, in my opinion, simply necessitated by the fact that it served such a vast organization. After all, it was not only the headquarters of the New Champions and their Journeymen, it was the only building used by the MLED in New Venice. And with the MLED being nearly the size of the police force, that meant almost 400 agents operating out of it, not to mention secretaries, janitors, management, and so on... and, of course, it almost certainly held things like cafeterias, medical wings, and more. But a baseball diamond?

All that was to say that while it was an impressively sprawling building, I didn’t really pause to marvel at its size.

I entered and met the receptionist, giving him a codeword that Canaveral had given me, and he nodded and directed me to where I would be _meeting superheroes! _I had entered in the wrong wing of the building, as it turned out, so I spent a few minutes walking, following an orange line that eventually led me to an elevator. I stepped inside it and gave my passphrase again to a microphone in the wall, and it began moving.

A moment after it started up, a panel on the side of the wall popped open, revealing a tray of masks. They were in a few different styles, but all in plain white, as well as a nametag that said ‘VISITOR: NEWTON’. Clever - allowing people to maintain a secret identity, or at least the pretense of one, even without a costume. I selected a domino mask, which self-adhered easily after I pressed a tiny button on its edge, and I found that it came off just as easily when I pressed the button again. I stuck the nametag to my shirt just in time, as the doors slid open just afterwards.

“Welcome!” said a tall, muscular black man wearing a mask that was the same blank white as the one I had taken from the elevator. “It’s good to see you again, Newton.”

After a moment, I recognized his voice as that of Canaveral. “It’s good to see you too,” I said, shaking his hand. “I guess we’re not meeting up in costume? I did wear mine underneath these clothes, but there were masks in the elevator, so...”

“Everyone’s suited up as much as they care to be already,” he told me. “We can take a moment for you to change if you’d like?” I shrugged. “Follow me, then - we’re all in the main common room.”

He pointed me down a short hallway, and briefly explained how their wing of the compound was laid out. One hallway was where the New Champions were located - a common area with couches, a TV, a small kitchen, and so on, with rooms branching out from it. This was mirrored on the other side of the elevator, with a similar setup for the Journeymen - he noted that their side of the wing had been set up for minors and so lacked adult entertainments - like alcohol, he quickly clarified when I began to blush. Adults weren’t allowed in the Journeymen’s area, while the reverse was true of the Champions’ - technically, he noted, they were divided by age rather than team, but they didn’t currently have any adults on the Journeymen so it was a moot point.

“Although that might be changing soon?” he asked me hopefully, and I shrugged, still undecided.

Meanwhile, the central hallway that we were currently meandering down led to shared spaces. A larger common room for the teams to use together, training areas like the gym and the pool, the console room, and the exit that they left through for patrols.

“Are you over or under 21?” he asked me.

“Over,” I answered. “I turned 21 about three months ago.”

“You’d graduate from the Journeymen pretty quickly, then. People think the team is just for minors, but it’s actually more of a training thing - six months minimum on the junior team for anyone registering as a hero,” he explained, “then they’re moved to a main team somewhere in the country. Or not, if they’re still under 21.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed, “but how long is this corridor, anyway?”

“That’s a good question,” he said. “Not this long, typically. Holly, is this your doing?”


	29. 2. Scene 3

_Scene 3 - October 20th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Suddenly, the world changed. No longer were we slowly walking down a hallway towards a surprisingly distant light - instead, we were walking on a treadmill that stood in the middle of a comfortable looking lounge area, while a small group of teenagers and adults watched. One of them, a muscular young woman with dark skin and an impressively-poofy afro, was chuckling. “We were wondering how long it would take you to notice,” she teased. “And you just won me my bet by noticing first, new guy! Thanks! And pay up, sucker!” She jabbed the woman standing next to her in the ribs, shorter and thinner with pale skin and long blonde hair. Both were wearing the same white masks as me and Canaveral.

“Introductions first, I think,” Canaveral said, chuckling as the blonde girl, grumbling, passed a bill to the other. “Superhero name, civilian if you’re willing to give it, and one interesting thing about you. Oh, and pronouns,” he added. “I’ll start.”

He turned back to me and _took off his mask what was happening. _“Abraham Armstrong, aka Canaveral,” he told me, seeming quite amused at the flabbergasted look that was surely plastered on my face despite the mask I was wearing. “Hey, don’t look like that! I don’t actually have a secret identity, you know, I just don’t really spread it around like _some_ people do,” he said with a mocking glance at an attractive Hispanic woman who was taking up an entire couch.

“Love you too, babe,” she shot back, unbothered.

“Anyway, I’m he/him, and I used to date a supervillain.”

“Was it Maxwell?” He nodded. “I thought so.”

“I’ll go next. I’m Holly Koval, aka Loki.” said the handsome blonde girl who had lost money, and her mask simply faded from existence. “Sorry about the prank, by the way - it was all in good fun - and it was Journey here’s idea anyway.” She jerked a finger at the black girl.

“It’s all right,” I assured her.

“I use she/her as a civilian, but he/him in costume. My interesting fact is that I’m the only one on this team who actually _learned_ magic, instead of just relying on an innate knack.”

“I’m Simone Destrey,” said her Amazonian neighbor, “aka Journey. She/her, and Holly is _lying_.”

“That’s neither interesting nor a fact!” Holly protested.

Simone crossed her arms. “Fine. My interesting fact is that the Journeymen are named after me.”

“No we’re not,” said a young man in a hoodie who was leaning against one wall. “You’ve only been part of the group for two years. It’s been the Journeymen for what, six?”

“Yeah, it was shortly after I joined,” Holly agreed. “Try another fact, Simone.”

“I’m relentlessly bullied,” she complained with a sigh, but she smiled as she said it. “Is that good enough?”

“Yeah, that works,” said the hoodied kid. “And I’ll break the trend by _not_ revealing my identity, I mean _come on_. I’m Hypnos.” He didn’t seem to be wearing a costume, really, just the comfy-looking hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, with a domino mask under the raised hood. “He/him, and my fact is that I don’t want to be here. Also, I’m deaf. I wear hearing aids, but I might not be able to understand you if you don’t speak clearly. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

“And I’m Emilia Alvarez,” said the Hispanic woman, sitting up from where she had been lying on the couch. “Better known as Zookeeper - she/her. My fact is that I have an eidetic memory. That’s everyone who could be here today - Anima is on patrol with Sequoia, Vulcan is on console duty, and Referee is out of town this weekend.”

“What about Ben?” Canaveral asked.

She shrugged. “Starling just said no. You know he’s not exactly social.”

There was a moment of silence before I realized that everyone else had introduced themselves and was now watching me expectantly. I nervously ran a hand through my hair, then decided to pull off my mask. They had trusted me, after all, and if I didn’t become a hero I wouldn’t have a secret identity anyway. “I’m Quinn Kaufman - they/them,” I introduced myself. “My fact is that I got my powers less than a week ago.”

“And Abe is already trying to recruit you? They must be pretty strong,” Emilia commented. “What can you do?”

“Well, I can open pickle jars, and I can draw pretty well,” I began.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I’m not much of a singer, but I can whistle.”

“Quinn-”

“My classmates tell me that I’m a good tutor, and with all humility I can say that I’m a _beast_ at air hockey.”

“Can you play the piano?” Holly asked.

“How about parkour?” said Simone.

“Poetry,” was Hypnos’s contribution.

“Yes but not for years, yes, and no but my dad is a professor of poetry.”

“How are you at cooking?” asked Canaveral - Abraham, I supposed.

“Frisbee?”

“Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Fishing?”

“Speaking other languages?” Emilia asked, apparently having decided to go with the flow.

“Pretty decent, not great, not since high school, no, and a little Spanish.”

“Ever wrestled an eel?” asked Simone.

“Or gone white-water rafting?”

“Acted in a play?”

“Kissed a boy?”

“Kissed a _girl?__”_

“No, no, yes, and gentlemen don’t kiss and tell and neither do I.” I said with a grin.

The impromptu quiz continued for a few minutes more before the group seemed to get bored with coming up with increasingly ridiculous questions, and the topic turned back to my powers. “Seriously though, what can you do?” Emilia asked again.

“I have a sort of omnidirectional sense paired with a kind of telekinesis that includes a backlash. Think of it like...” I paused for a moment, trying to decide how to describe it. “I have telekinetic arms that extend like an aura around my body. Anything within line of sight of me, I can feel and move as though I held it - which means, when I try to move massive things, that _I__’m_ moved instead.”

“Self Buff (Sensory) and Area Control (Kinetic),” Emilia guessed. “Am I right, babe?”

“You’ve got it,” Abraham agreed.

“What is that? Some kind of power rating?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” the heroine confirmed. “The MLED rates powers in four ways, each with one of four ratings.”

“You weren’t kidding about them liking fours,” I said to Abraham, who nodded sadly.

“Each power is labeled by area of effect, type of effect, power level, and general effect,” she continued. “The idea is that it’s the order of information you need to know in the field - area of affect tells you if you need to stay out of their touch range, sight range, or just away, with self range powers not being dodgeable for obvious reasons.”

“Meanwhile, type of effect tells you what it’ll do to you if you don’t steer clear,” Canaveral said, taking up the thread. “Buffs make the target better at something, debuffs make you worse, damage will just hurt you, and control is kind of a catch-all but is theoretically about things that’ll control the target. Everything from mind control to telekinesis.” He glanced at the three younger heroes. “Which of you wants to take the next one?”

“Oh shit, is this a quiz?” asked Simone.

“Well, it is now,” Emilia agreed. “And I think you just volunteered.”

Holly laughed. “Sorry, Simone!”

“It’s fine, I know it anyway. Third is a numerical danger rating, 0-3. 0 is for stuff that’s barely or not at all dangerous, like this kid at my martial arts dojo who can walk on water but nothing else. 1 is stuff that’s dangerous but can be dealt with by a normal human. 2 is stuff that you can’t deal with without powers, but which is limited in scope, and 3 is powers that can do almost anything.”

“As you can imagine,” Emilia commented, “ratings of 3 are very rare. Most metahumans have ratings of 0 or 1, with even most superheroes and villains only having ratings of 1 or 2.”

“So like... Graviton, or Cobalt Red?”

Abraham nodded. “They’re two who have 3 ratings, yes,” he said. “Legion is another, as was the Mountain King back in the day. The only ones in New Venice right now are Rube and La Borda.”

I thought about this for a moment. “How is this different from the threat level rankings you told me about?”

“Threat level covers people as a whole, which means it takes their personality and goals into account,” he said. “Power rankings are strictly for powers. So Max, for example, has a low threat rating, but his hammerspace power is ranked at 2.”

“That makes sense.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you two!” Abraham suddenly cried, pointing at Holly and Hypnos, one with each arm. “There’s still one category left in the power rankings!”

“Sure, but it’s the silliest one,” Holly said. “It’s just a brief descriptor of the power. I don’t see why they can’t condense it all a bit. Like, why not just give you ‘touch kinesis 2” instead of ‘touch control 2 (kinetic)’? Seems like an over complication.”

“I dunno, I can see the rational for both,” I put in. “But then, I’m coming from the outside. Maybe it makes less sense in practice.”

“Honestly, it works pretty well in practice,” said Emilia. “These two just like complaining.”

“You say I like complaining, but I have actual issues with the system,” Abraham insisted, and Holly nodded. “I mean, just think of how many different kinds of powers are all grouped together in Self Buff!”

“So...” I said, trying to move on from the argument, “if I’m Self Buff and Area Control...”

“At ranks 1 and 2 respectively,” Abraham added, “although those ratings are provisional depending on what power testing shows when you register and go through it.”

“What are the rest of you guys?”

“I’m Touch Control 2 (Kinetic),” the hero said. “Powerful and versatile, but I can’t do everything.

“I’m Self Control 2 (Animal Shifting),” Emilia told me. “Any animal I know the form of, I can transform into. I have to put in the work to learn their form, but thanks to my eidetic memory, my roster only ever expands.”

“The magic I’ve learned lets me control light and sound,” said Holly. “The MLED gives me an Area Control 2 (Illusion) rating, but that misses _so much_. I mean, I’m not making magical illusions - those are mental constructs placed into the psychic landscape. I’m actually controlling photons and sonic energy. I can make lasers and concussive blasts when I need to. See, this is why the current rating system is -”

“I have Self Control 1 (Teleportation),” Simone interrupted. “Myself and anything I can lift. I have a distance limit that rises as I move physically, and falls whenever I teleport. That’s why I have to work out so much, and that’s why I’m called Journey.”

“I thought you were just a fan of the band,” I joked.

“Well obviously I love their stuff, but I’m not gonna name myself after some middle-aged white dudes,” she retorted.

“Fair point.”

We glanced at Hypnos. “Self Buff 0 (Sensory Projection),” he reluctantly said. “My senses can fly around disconnected from my body.” I winced, and he shrugged. “Sure, the MLED thinks it’s useless, but I don’t want to be a hero anyway. I’m just here for training, because I can’t always control it - I often end up projecting randomly as I sleep.”

“Well, I’m sorry that your powers aren’t always under your control,” I told him. “But they do sound really useful, for recon work and the like. I assume that you can’t be hurt when you’re projecting them?”

He waggled a hand. “Sort of. Things like flashbangs that target the senses will fuck me up something fierce - no actual damage, but I get a terrible migraine and can’t keep projecting until it goes away. But stuff like fire or electricity are dulled enough that I feel it without feeling pain.”

“So are you thinking about joining the Journeymen?” Holly asked. “We’d be glad to have you, and I’m sure Sequoia and Referee would agree. I know she’d love to have another trans person on the team, and so would I.”

“Between the three of you, we poor cis kids would be almost outnumbered,” Simone commented with a chuckle.

“At least we’d keep up our all-queer streak.”

“I’m... considering it. I admit, I’m leaning towards ‘no’ right now, but it’s got nothing to do with you guys, you all seem lovely.”

“Well, do you have any questions?” Holly asked. “Anything we can do to try and convince you?”

“_Anything?_” said Simone, leaning forward, clasping her hands behind her back, and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Holly sprayed her in the face with a bottle of water that materialized from thin air. I assumed it was an illusion, but it seemed to be real enough to make Simone splutter. “There’s a time and a place, Simone, and this isn’t it,” she scolded, surprisingly sternly given her earlier prank. “Leave the flirting for another time.”

“Or at least be a little more subtle about it,” Emilia advised.

“Well, one question I have is -” I began, but was interrupted by a blaring alarm and a red light that began sweeping the room.

“Console to stand-by,” came a quiet voice through speakers in the ceiling. “We have reports that Legion is in the city. Repeat, we have reliable information suggesting that Legion is in New Venice.”


	30. 2. Scene 4

_Scene 4 - October 20th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Holly Koval_

I had been having such a _nice night,_ up until that moment. Sure, I would have had a good time at home, practicing my magical abilities and trying to get my parents to tear themselves away from their own magical research to help me - well, I would have had a good time with my research, trying to get my parents to pay attention to mine instead of theirs was like pulling teeth - but I tried not to get so wrapped up in research that I forgot about my friends. Coming in and spending some time with Simone was no hardship.

And the new kid that Armstrong was trying to recruit seemed like a good guy - not to mention that they were nonbinary too, even if they probably weren’t genderfluid as they only had one set of pronouns. Plus they were pretty cute - their eyes were a pleasant blue that stood out marvelously against the darkness of their hair, which was a curly mess of a jewfro that I wished I could just sink my fingers into. But, alas, I had just met them, and such things weren’t socially acceptable. Maybe if they joined the Journeymen.

...an amusing thought struck me: since my 21st birthday was in just six months, Kaufman’s graduation to the ranks of the New Champions - or whichever MLED team somewhere in America needed them most - would occur at the same time as mine, if they joined within the next month.

“Who’s Legion?” they asked, raising their voice to be heard over the alarm, and I refocused. “You mentioned them earlier, right Abe? But I don’t think I’ve heard of whoever they are. A supervillain, I assume?” I absently raised a hand, thinking a mind-bending thought and making an impossible gesture with the ease of long practice, and reduced the volume of the alarm to something less headache-inducing.

Armstrong nodded seriously, his demeanor visibly shifting. He was pretty light-hearted out of costume, not taking anything too seriously despite his status as the leader of the Champions. But when he donned the mantle of Canaveral, he took things far more seriously, became more intense. He was undergoing that shift now, a rare sight out of costume. “Legion is an extremely powerful shapeshifter, with no real limits aside from the amount of mass she has to work with. And she can consume organic matter to increase her mass.”

“That’s pretty scary to start with,” Kaufman noted, “but I somehow feel like there’s more.”

“There is,” Alvarez said, rising from her couch. “When she consumes something, she stores its pattern down to the atomic level, and can recreate it. Or mix and match as she desires. She can eat _people_ and take their forms, and it’s impossible to detect without a brain scan.” Kaufman was going pale now, clearly imagining all sorts of horrible things.

“Even that’s not the worst part,” I couldn’t help but add. “She can duplicate herself, too. Spawn an extra body patterned after her own, and then there are two of her - both with the same shapeshifting abilities.”

“I don’t know much about her, to be honest,” Simone admitted. “When she splits like that, is it a hivemind?”

Canaveral - because he _was_ Canaveral now, to such a degree that I could easily imagine his costume in place of the loose button-down and jeans that he was actually wearing - shook his head. “No, which is one of her few weaknesses. If she’s separated from herself they have no connection to each other.” He looked back to Kaufman, completely serious. “You need to go.”

“What? No! I can help!” they protested.

He shook his head. “You’re still untrained and you haven’t joined yet. And yes,” he raised a hand, “I know I took you against gangsters under vigilante laws. This is a different situation - Legion is one of the most dangerous women in the world.”

“Legion is _who-knows-how-many_ of the most dangerous women in the world,” Kaufman corrected. “You’ll probably be outnumbered! You need all the help you can get! Besides,” they added slyly, “would it be safer for me to be out there alone, where she is, or with you guys?”

“Legion is dangerous, but she’s not mindless,” said Alvarez. “She usually sticks to stealth and doesn’t engage unless she has to, and she always has some target in mind wherever she goes. She’s not going to attack someone who seems like a random civilian. But regulations say that you can’t remain when we’re about to go into lockdown.”

Kaufman sighed, defeated. “Alright, alright. I’ll go.” They raised a hand and gave a dejected wave. “It was nice to meet all of you.”


	31. 2. Scene 5

_Scene 5 - October 20th  
_ _MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Holly Koval_

After they left, Canaveral pushed a button on the wall, activating a microphone to the console room. “Vulcan, call Anima and Sequoia in from patrol, if you haven’t already.”

“They’re on their way,” came the quiet voice of the metal man. “Do we have a plan, sir?”

He rubbed his temples. “I’m working on one, Adam. Give me some time.”

“You’ll need our help,” Simone said. “New Venice isn’t exactly a one-horse town - you need us to help you cover it.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Alvarez agreed.

“Hey!”

“It’s dangerous,” Canaveral protested.

The shapeshifter shook her head. “Nic works at a distance, and Legion doesn’t have anything that will hurt him when he’s projecting - we need him to help scout the city. Simone can be transport only, that won’t be too dangerous either.”

“I can work from a distance too,” I offered. “I know my hand-to-hand skills aren’t going to be worth much against Legion, but I bet I can use lasers to cut off parts of her body mass.”

He sighed. “Fine. But _only_ from a distance. And only because you’re all over 18 - Sequoia will have to go home too, once he and Miriam get back.”

“Jack can help too!” said Hypnos. “He turns 18 in only a few weeks!”

“He’s still under 18 until then,” Canaveral shot back. “You’re just going to have to live with your boyfriend staying a safe distance from the dangerous supervilain.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way...”

With my involvement approved, I took a moment to shift into Loki. It was an adjustment I had made a probably a thousand times in the years since I joined the Journeymen - I had been a member since I was 15, and at this point I have more experience than many full-fledged heroes. With all that practice, the change is quick, and a moment later the appearance of loose, flowing clothes that I had worn over the kevlar body suit I actually wore whenever I went to the Compound was gone, and replaced by Loki’s costume. My long blonde hair is gone too, covered by stylishly-unkempt black hair - a style that PR spent hours perfecting, since I never need to let it actually get ruined. Of course, my hair isn’t actually that short, but no one would notice me pinning it up when the actual movement of my body wasn’t what my illusory self is doing. I’ve always thought that it was an excellent disguise - as Loki I’m six inches taller than I am as Holly, with short black hair rather than long blonde curls and dark eyes rather than baby blues, plus a more muscular (and more masculine) build. Not to mention that I used different pronouns - I don’t think hat anyone could guess my secret identity.

“Alright, I think I have the beginnings of a plan,” Canaveral said, and I refocused myself yet again.


	32. 2. Scene 6

_Scene 6 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior City, Early Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

It took me a few minutes to make my way out of the MLED building, but it wasn’t long before I was on my way back home. It was probably for the best, I told myself - after all, I had class tomorrow, and it wouldn’t hurt to spend the evening reviewing notes instead of socializing. I certainly wasn’t going to be stewing over not being able to hang out with superheroes, or drowning my sorrows that I didn’t have any close friends at school to hang out with. No, not me.

...Did we even have any beer left at the house? Maybe I should swing by the store on the way back.

I found my bus station and began a new sketch of the three members of the Journeymen I had just met. The dark-skinned Amazon, Simone - the slim Nordic woman, Holly - and the young man hiding in his hoodie, Hypnos. They would be my teammates, if I decided to join. There were two others, if I remembered right - Sequoia, who had been on patrol along with Anima, and Referee, who had been out of town.

They had seemed nice enough. Simone struck me as rather bubbly and cheerful, taking the good-natured ribbing that the others gave her with good grace. Hypnos didn’t seem to be too enthused about being a hero in general, but he hadn’t seemed like a bad person. And Holly had seemed cool - sure, she had pulled a prank on me, but it hadn’t been a particularly mean one. And after all, her heroic identity _was_ named after the god of mischief. Honestly, I was surprised that she didn’t screw around even more.

I felt like I could probably getting along with them fine. The question was really if I could actually be a hero at all. Regardless of what my dad said, I knew that I was never going to change the world. I was just one kid, not particularly bright, barely funny, and definitely more out of shape than I should be if I was going heroing. Could I really be a superhero?

Hm, the bus was pretty late. And, I remembered, I still had my costume on under my clothes...

Why not?


	33. 2. Scene 7

_Scene 7 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Traveling over the rooftops was _way_ better than taking the bus. After finding a convenient alleyway where I could strip down to my costume, stuffing the light clothing I had worn over it into my bag and using TK to make sure I wouldn’t drop it, I simply walked up the side of the wall and began moving.

It was much faster, too - New Venice had notoriously winding roads that made driving much slower than it was in cities that had actually been planned, rather than designed by horse tracks. On the rooftops, however, I could travel in something approaching a straight line, and despite my top speed probably being only 30 or 40 mph, I was on track to arrive home before the bus would have gotten me there.

And, of course, it was more fun.

It was as I was leaping over Shiketsu Street that I noticed something strange - as I had crossed the street my ESP had felt one person standing in the mouth on an alley, but when I landed there were two people.

I leaned over the edge curiously and saw a pair of muscular woman, both with long blue hair. They could have been twins for all the difference they had - but even as I watched, one of them began to change. The hair shortened and turned purple, and the clothes changed into a different outfit entirely. Even her facial features - those that my ESP was picking up - were subtly changing.

The blue-haired one glanced up, and I ducked back, hoping she hadn’t noticed me. This had to be Legion! What kind of terrible luck do I have, that I just stumbled onto her?

Well, I supposed it technically _didn__’t_ have to be Legion - as Canaveral had pointed out to me the night that we had encountered Maxwell, there were enough shapeshifters of various kinds out there to make anyone’s identity questionable. But it seemed like too much of a coincidence for me to stumble on a possibly-multiplying shapeshifter the same night that one arrived in New Venice. I had to follow her, and to let the New Champions know where she was.


	34. 2. Scene 8

_Scene 8 - October 20th_

_Interior MLED Compound, Early Evening_

_Abraham Armstrong_

“So,” I began, “the normal procedure when Legion is in town is to call in Aegis. He’s immune to everything she does - obviously,” I added, trying to bring a bit of levity into the situation. “Problem is that absolute invulnerability is in high demand, and he’s a very busy man. As of this morning’s commander briefing, he was dealing with an incursion from a parallel universe in California, and not expected to be available for another three days.”

“A parallel universe?” Simone asked. “Are those a thing?”

“Apparently,” I said with a shrug. “I’ll put in a request, but don’t expect him until then. Fortunately,” I said to the microphone in the wall, “we have an invulnerable man of our own. Isn’t that right, Vulcan?”

“Sir,” Adam protested, sounding embarrassed. “I’m nothing like tough as Aegis.”

“You’re probably tougher than any organic constructs she can put together, though,” Emilia pointed out. “And since you’re not organic yourself, in metal form, she won’t be able to absorb you.”

“Exactly,” I said, walking past her to the center of the room. I briefly touched her side as I passed, and she put a hand over mine - we exchanged a smile, then I continued. “So Zookeeper, I want you to relieve Vulcan of console duty. He’s going to be on stand-by to go up against any instances of Legion that we have a location on. You, Journey,” I said, turning to the young teleporter, “will be his transport.” Emilia nodded and began jogging to the console.

“I’m mostly out of distance,” I warned. “Depending on where in the city she’s found, I’ve probably only got one there-and-back trip left in me. I’ve been meaning to mention it, but...”

“Then that will have to do,” I said. “If necessary, I’ll head out as well, since I’m the fastest person here beside you.” I sighed. “We need to get you another cross country trip soon,” I noted, and the young heroine nodded.

At that moment, Vulcan stepped in from the console room. Adam Abelard didn’t have much a distinction between his civilian and superhero identities - the main difference was how formal his clothes were. The young man tended to wear button-downs and sweaters when he could, trying to reduce the intimidating effect of being a six-foot-four black man built like a truck by putting on a nerdy exterior, or so I had always assumed. Of course, my own goofy persona was at least partially for the same reason, so who was I to judge? The young hero entered the room halfway through pulling off today’s sweater vest, leaving him in khaki pants and a white button down. “Do we have any idea where she is?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “But hopefully we will soon. Nic? She was reported about ten minutes south of the Compound.”

“Give me a moment,” the young man said, leaning against the wall. “I’m going to try to only send my vision so that I can still talk with you guys...” He closed his eyes and slumped a moment later. “... no, sorry, I can’t hear you,” he murmured. “But I’ll give you updates as I go. Right now I’m at the corner of Lander and Evans and continuing south. No sign of her yet.”

Adam walked over to Simone, giving her a shy smile. “How’s Megan?” he asked.

She sighed. “We’re on a break right now, unfortunately. How’s Tyrone?”

“Us to,” he said, gloomily. “At least the boss’s love-life is doing fine.”

Loki glanced at them. “Didn’t you hear? He and Emilia broke up with Max last month,” he said.

“Enough chatter,” I said, shooting the cluster of young heroes a glare, then winked to show that I wasn’t actually mad. “I don’t mind you gossiping about me, but seriously, eyes on the prize. Pay attention to Nic and keep an ear out for anything Zookeeper calls in with. Simone, Adam, you two in particular need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Nic continued feeding reports over the next few minutes, but Legion hadn’t made another appearance yet and without actually spotting her transforming, it was impossible to actually know who she was. It was shaping up to be a long night already.

I had to wonder what had brought Legion to New Venice. Her motivations tended to be a mystery - she sometimes mentioned having a boss, but other times insisted that she worked alone. And her actual actions held little pattern as well - in one city she would target one specific person and devour them, while in another she would steal an item from a museum. Here she would appear in public and fend off all attackers before leaving empty-handed, there she would quietly surrender to the MLED. It could be anything.

Anima and Sequoia had just returned to the Compound when Abe got a call on his cell phone. A quick glance at the screen said that it was Newton - I made a mental note to change the contact info now that I knew the kid’s name as I answered. “What is it? Don’t tell me that you’ve stumbled right into Legion,” I joked.

There was silence. “Kid?” I asked, starting to get worried. Had something happened? Was it just an accidental call? “Come on, talk to me.”

“You said not to tell you,” came the whispered reply.

“What!” I face-palmed, and put them on speakerphone. “You have the worst luck, kid.”

“Tell me about it. I’m on Shiketsu Street, between Hebert Avenue and Elm Street. There are two of her here right now - one with blue hair, one with purple.”

“Alright, someone will be there in a minute.” I glanced at Simone. “Journey, how many round trips could you make to Shiketsu Street?”

“Hm... only one, I think,” she said apologetically. “I could get there, back, and halfway there again, but then I’d be out.”

I glanced at Vulcan contemplatively. I could send the metal man in first and have Simone bring Quinn back to safety, and take the halfway trip himself. That was probably the best -

“Wait, shit, they’re both gone!” Quinn swore. “I don’t know where they went, I’m sorry!”

...or maybe I should go himself to check in on the kid. Plus I was better at pursuit and tracking than Vulcan - I had nothing against Adam, the man was a fast learner, but I had been doing this for seven years to Vulcan’s three. “One moment, Quinn,” I said, and hung up. “Journey, take me there. Then come back and bring Vulcan as close as you can. I’ll track down at least one of the Legions - once we capture her, hopefully she can tell us what the other one is up to.”


	35. 2. Scene 9

_Scene 9 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

A few seconds after I had pulled my cowl back on - there wasn’t time to done the rest of the Canaveral suit, but I’d manage - I was standing next to Newton, who had apparently changed into their costume at some point in the last half hour. Simone dropped my hand, gave Newton an encouraging smile, then vanished in a swirl of spacetime.

“...wait, why didn’t she take me back with her?” Quinn asked. “I figured you wouldn’t want me in Legion’s vicinity.”

I sighed. “Because I didn’t actually say for her to, and she apparently didn’t think of it herself. And it’s too late now - she’s used up too much of her built-up distance and can’t get all the way back here, let alone teleport anywhere once she arrived. I’m going to have to escort you to safety myself.”

Quinn nodded. “Still being trained?” they said sympathetically.

“She’s through the six-month training period, this is just an experience thing. But anyway, you said that you saw Legion?”

“Pretty sure,” they said with a firm nod. “My ESP picked up one person here, then two people a moment later, who might as well have been twins. Then one of them changed shape.”

“That seems pretty definitive,” I agreed. “Any other details?”

They shook their head. “Sorry. I tried to stay quiet and back from the edge, so I wouldn’t be noticed, and just called immediately. I peeked over again with my ESP - just stuck a finger over - and they were gone. Sorry for losing them.”

“No, you did the right thing. Legion is dangerous as hell.” I took a minute to poke around, but didn’t find much. Not that I particularly expected to, if I was being honest with myself. “Alright, let’s start moving. Where were you off to?”

“Just home - in Keystone Heights.”

“That’s closer than the Compound at this point, so lead the way.”


	36. 2. Scene 10

_Scene 10 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“Can you tell me a little about Legion?” I asked as we began moving. “I find myself kind of curious about the villain I nearly ran into.”

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“She’s high threat level, I’m guessing?” Canaveral nods. “What’s the usual response to people like that?”

“At high threat level, we stop ignoring identities, for one thing,” he said. “Unfortunately it doesn’t much matter, in this case - Legion’s real name is Penelope Page, but we can’t exactly track her out of costume when she’s such a powerful shapeshifter.”

“I see the problem.”

“We try to only send in people that are immune to their most dangerous abilities,” he continued. “Aegis is the ideal, of course, but he’s not available right now - in New Venice, the closest we get is Vulcan.”

“She absorbs organic matter, right?” I ask. “He turns into metal, she can’t do anything to him.”

“She can’t devour him, no. Although to be honest...” he sighed. “Alright, this is a complicated thing and I have to back up a moment. Remember how she can recreate biological structures?”

“Yeah?”

“There are a lot of really scary possibilities with that. See, brains are also biological structures...”

I went pale. “Are you saying that she can read people’s minds after eating them?”

“No, reading information out of a brain isn’t so simple. But she can recreate a person’s head later, and interrogate them as much as she likes.”

“That’s somehow even worse,” I decided. “Being devoured and just dying forever is one thing, even if she knows everything you did. But if she can bring you back only to torture you?”

“Yeah, it’s not pretty to think about,” he agreed with a wince. “On the other hand, it also means that the people she eats aren’t necessarily gone forever. After one of Legion’s bodies is captured, she’s usually willing to bring back one or more of her victims in exchange for something.”

I considered this. “What kinds of things?”

“It varies a lot,” the hero told me. “Sometimes she wants to talk to someone in particular and deliver a message, other times she wants to have another prisoner released. It’s hard to predict. But that’s what we’re hoping for every time she shows up.” He sighed. “There are always more victims, unfortunately.”

“How can you know that it’s the person she brought back, and not just a sleeper agent?”

“Brain scans, like I said, and power testing. If it’s Legion’s brain - and we do have scans of her - then it’s her, and will have her shapeshifting power. If it’s not, then it’s the actual person, and they’ll be able to use their own power.”

“Is there a procedure for that?” I couldn’t help but ask. “People coming back from the dead?”

“For Legion in particular, you’re listed as missing-in-action rather than deceased, so you get back pay for the time you were taken,” he said. “If you’re a hero, at least - civilians have to make their own arrangements. People have come back from other things on occasion, but as far as I know she’s the only one that’s regular enough for a specific rule to have been made.”

“So she’s beatable then,” I optimistically said. “If people capture her and bring back her victims so regularly.”

“I wonder, sometimes,” Canaveral mused. “Her patterns since she first appeared around five years ago have been so irregular, no one really knows what she’s after. It feels like she’s playing a different game than the rest of us are. I’ve fought her three times - not here, this was before I was transferred to New Venice - and I can’t help but think that she let us win the one time we captured her.”

We fell silent until we reached my home.


	37. 2. Scene 11

_Scene 11 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior Townhouse, Evening  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“Well, this is my stop,” I told Canaveral. “Thanks for escorting me home.”

“Don’t mention it,” he told me. “Seriously - don’t. Director Shepard would have preferred me to stay hot on Legion’s heels.” He shrugged. “She was gone anyway, and with the kind of luck you apparently have...”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m half surprised she isn’t waiting for us here.”

“Hey - don’t jinx it!” We share a laugh. “Did tonight help you come to a decision, at least?”

“It...” I sighed. “Not really. This crisis kind of interrupted my thinking, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“Why would I feel bad about it?”

“Well, _I_ feel kind of bad about it, so...” We laugh again. “If you’d like to come hang out on a night that we’re not trying to track down an unpredictable shapeshifter, give me another call. I’ll let you know if we’re available.”

“I will.” I turned to enter the townhouse my father and I shared and started digging in my bag for my keys - I had foolishly left them in my pocket when I had changed into my costume, and as dad was visiting a friend tonight the door was locked - but was interrupted by a strange noise behind me. When I glanced back, I saw Canaveral’s face covered by a long, grotesque hand that lifted him off the ground, claws digging into the white fabric of his temporary cowl as he struggled. A moment later it tossed him aside and its far-too-long arm retracted, revealing his attacker.

She was a little shorter than the previous versions I saw, but more heavily built. This one seemed to have settled on green as a color scheme - a green skirt so dark it was nearly black, a pale green sleeveless shirt, and green hair that obscured her face. And she was staring _right at me_.

“Who are you, child?” Legion asked. “What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here?” I couldn’t prevent myself from shooting back. “Should I be asked _you_ that question?” I mean, I’m the one who lives in this city!” I felt something moving from the direction Canaveral had been thrown, and hoped I wouldn’t give away what he was doing.

She sighed. “Of course you do. Well then, young -” Her head suddenly exploded as a manhole cover traveling at the speed of a freight train flew through it like a frisbee.

“Run, Newton!” Canaveral called, landing from a flying leap in between me and the supervillain, who had crossed her arms as though annoyed.

“I can’t just leave you!” I protested as Legion’s head grew back. Tendrils crawled out of her back towards various bits of gore, which melted and reformed into her body. “...besides, I think I’d vomit if I tried to move too fast right now,” I joked. “I mean, _ew._”

“Newton,” he growled. “_Go_.”

Instead, I dodged - I felt the ground cracking beneath our feet, and an explosion of spines and bones erupted under Canaveral. I _pushed_ him, flinging him to the side and away from it and simultaneously sending me to the other side. Before I could touch the ground, I _pushed_ against the earth, sending myself higher into the air.

It took me a moment to reorient myself - I closed my eyes for a moment to track the world with ESP, which didn’t seem to care what my inner ear was screaming about - then I _pulled_ at the supervillain, launching myself towards her. Legion was rooted into the ground, having shifted herself through the asphalt to create that burst of spines. I came at her fist-first, not sure what I could do against her but knowing that I couldn’t do anything else.

She caught my fist in one hand, which extended to hold me above her head as I tried to grab at her. “Give me a moment, child,” she chided. “Let me just deal with this pest, and then we can talk.”

“Leave the kid alone!” Canaveral barked as he rushed in. He stopped on a dime as she swiped at him, staying just out of her reach - her reach at that moment, anyway - then bounced into the air to dodge her second swipe. His chain drove itself into one of her eyes and out the other - this was pretty gruesome, and I found myself thankful that I had never been squeamish.

“I just _regrew_ my head, do you really think I put my brain back in it?” Legion asked. “Come now, Mr. Armstrong.”

She was clearly storing more mass than she ought to be able to in a body that size - I could tell from my ESP that she weighed far more than she should, not to mention how dense her fingers around my fist were - like rocks. And there was little reason for her to bother with fat when she had such complete control over herself - she was probably nothing but muscle and bone, given her incredible strength. If she even had to bother with such things when she could just shapeshift bones into whatever shape she wanted - on the other hand, she certainly moved like she had joints.

If she had joints, then she had weak spots, too.

I had never tried grabbing a specific location on an object before, but... I took hold of her forearm and bicep on the arm that held me with my TK, and _pulled_ and _pushed_ and _twisted_ in opposite directions, as hard as I thought I could handle.

...ow. _That_ was gonna bruise.

It had worked, though - with a stomach-churning squelch and pop, I had dislocated her elbow, and her hand and arm dropped, instinctively releasing me as muscles reflexively failed.

Again, I _pushed_ at the ground before I could strike it, and found myself high in the air.

She glanced up at me, apparently unconcerned with Canaveral’s attempts to find her brain. “You’re not going to stop, are you?” she asked.

“Nope!” I said as cheerfully as I could manage, beginning to fall back to earth. “Not until I’ve put at least one of you behind bars, and preferably all three!” I was doing my best to channel the nonchalance and irreverence that Canaveral had had against the drug dealers, although with only limited success.

“At least one of three, hm? Well, I’m a little busy tonight. Places to be, people to see...”

“People to _see_ or people to _be?__”_ I quipped, and Canaveral snorted from where he struggled in her grip.

Legion laughed - the bright, tinkling laugh of someone enjoying themselves - and her hair parted itself to expose a pleased smile, curling up and tucking behind her ears. Was Canaveral really that low of a threat to her, that she had the mental capacity to not only banter with me but also mess with her own appearance, while still holding him off? “Just to see, tonight. No impersonations on the menu this time.”

I landed lightly on the roof of my house. I had to keep her talking as long as I could - not only would it give other heroes a chance to get here and help me and Canaveral, but any information on what she was doing was bound to be helpful. “Are you sure? Because you’re doing a great impression of someone’s older sister right now.”

She glanced down a Canaveral, who had mostly escaped her grasp but was now attempting to force his way closer to her despite one hand being firmly planted on the top of his head. “You know, you’re not wrong.”

“Newton!” Canaveral yelled. “Get the hell out of here!”

“Is that what you’re going by?” Legion asked. “Newton?”

“Dunno if I’ll keep it, but yeah,” I confirmed. I flipped off the roof and aimed for her elbow again. I didn’t really expect to hit, especially given how telegraphed this would be, so I prepared to alter my trajectory and strike her in the chest instead.

...well, I didn’t hit her elbow. I also didn’t hit her torso, as she expanded into a wide ring and allowed me to pass directly through her. I rolled and bounced off my feet, barely avoiding the tentacle that her unoccupied arm had turned into by dodging back around her - it came close enough that it tore my flannel, but it didn’t cut through the suit. “Speaking of people who don’t stop...”

Legion sighed. “This is getting very irritating. I hoped it would be the simplest stop, but no,” she complained. “You just have to make this difficult, don’t you?” Suddenly, the asphalt below me wrapped around my feet. I struggled, but it bound me too tightly to allow me to move, and it was creeping up my legs.

“How the hell?”

“Asphalt is made up organic compounds,” she told me, then turned to face Canaveral, who had backed away from her and was staring at me in horror. “Why don’t you settle down some, Canaveral?”

He balled up his fists. “Leave the kid out of this, Legion,” he ordered. “They’ve got nothing to do with whatever brought you here!”

She chuckled. “You think so, hmm? Well, I suppose so... but...” She gave him a sly grin. “You’ll have to give me a chance to speak, instead of launching things through my appendages. Deal?”

He gritted his teeth, but nodded. “Deal. Newton...” he glared at me. “_Go_.” The asphalt, which had by that point reached by waist, peeled away, splitting into a pair of large, dark birds, both of which flew off.

I glanced helplessly between the two of them, but after a moment I finally went.


	38. 2. Scene 12

_Scene 12 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

It was painful, leaving Canaveral alone. On one level, obviously I knew that he was an experienced hero and had fought Legion before. But... he had clearly been struggling, and he had little backup. Her ability to consume organic matter was clearly far more dangerous than I had initially thought, with her having absorbed and controlled _asphalt_ of all things, and that meant that the mass of the entire street was at her command (in retrospect, no wonder she hadn’t shifted even a little when I used her as an anchor for my TK).

As I moved, I couldn’t help but think... what had I just done? I had leapt into a super-powered battle without even thinking. Was I meant to be a hero after all?

...no, I had been useless, I realized. Worse than useless, in fact - I had probably been _distracting _Canaveral, and that was why he was having difficulty. He had been trying to get me to run the entire time, and what did I do? I stuck around and made things harder for him. What kind of shitty hero would I be?

Hell, Legion had clearly not been taking the fight seriously. She had barely paid attention to Canaveral and seemed to be trying to stay deliberately nonlethal with me. She had caught me twice, both without apparent effort, and could have almost definitely absorbed me then and there if she wanted to.

Unless the PA4 that I was wearing wasn’t organic? I had no idea what it was actually made of.

Still, I doubted it would have actually stopped Legion if she had been really trying. It was just a costume, psychic awakening or not, and it wasn’t even armored except from the knees and elbows onward (which, I had to say, is a weird place for it to be armored). If she could mimic asphalt, I was sure that she could mimic some kind of carbon-fiber blade and cut ribbons through me.

I had to pause on a rooftop as it suddenly hit me - I really had been close to death! The gun hadn’t seemed real and still didn’t, somehow - maybe it was because, like I had told my dad, I had never felt in danger with Canaveral there - he hadn’t been challenged at all by the gangsters. But Legion... she had been holding him off all on her own, with no difficulty at all. And she didn’t have to be on her own. Any time she wanted...

I suddenly felt the need to be closer to the ground. I needed a few moments to just... not be in this context. Not be in this costume, not be in this rooftop world, to not be _Newton_ and to be _Quinn_ instead.

I took a moment to leap off the roof, landing in Vivaldi Park, and sat down on a bench. I glanced around briefly with my eyes and ESP and, seeing no-one around, reached for the tiny button on the clasp of my belt that would loosen the PA4 and allow me to pull the mask off.

Before I could, however, a tree behind me warped and shifted and, bird in its branches and all, became a woman. I sighed, and put my nervous breakdown on hold for a moment.


	39. 2. Scene 13

_Scene 13 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior Vivaldi Park, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“I’ve got to tell you, Legion, I’m a little fed up with this right now,” I said without turning around, instead tracking her with ESP as she approached. “I mean, I literally _just_ ran into you a second ago, and here you are again!”

“Yes, I know,” she said. This Legion’s voice was a little deeper than the one Canaveral and I had just been fighting. She was taller and more broadly built, too - I supposed that there was a limit to how far she could compress the mass of the tree she had just been pretending to be. “She was meant to be speaking to - well, the important thing is that the two of us have swapped roles in this visit to your lovely city.”

“How did you do that?” I asked, trying to keep her talking and not attacking. “I thought you didn’t have a hivemind. Did she take a moment to give you a ring?”

“We don’t, and no - phones are too easy to trace. But we can communicate information by merging our nervous systems, so...” A bird sprouted from her finger and flew around me, then returned to her hand and was reabsorbed. “A little bird told me.”

“...and the other one went to your third incarnation.”

She was close enough now that even with my ESP not being incredibly precise I was able to feel her tilt her head a little in acknowledgment. “Exactly - although I don’t know what _she_ was told.”

I turned to look at her. “You seem chattier than the green one. A little less murdery.” Her face was a little different too, I thought - or maybe it was just that her hair was a little shorter, it was hard to tell.

Legion shrugged. “We’re all a little different,” she said. “Our powers let us perfectly replicate any biological structure that we’ve absorbed, yes, but they’re a little less precise when we’re following a template that we _haven__’t _absorbed - although at least we can do it more than once.”

_“_Your brain,” I realized.

The shapeshifter nodded. “Each time we create a duplicate, the brain is a little different. Not much, but enough - particularly as we immediately begin having different experiences. We call it drift, and we try to keep the number of duplications since the original down - for example, I’m a third generation, so I won’t be duplicating myself at all unless absolutely necessary. I suppose the me you met may have drifted a little more aggressive, and perhaps I drifted a little less so.”

“Since you’re feeling so talkative, why are you here?”

“I drifted less aggressive, not more naive,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m here to talk to someone - so is she, actually - but I’m not about to tell you who, or about what.” The woman eyed me. “Unless... no, best to be sure. I’ll do it another way.”

“...sure about what?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just say this. That suit you’re wearing? It granted you your powers, didn’t it?”

“How did you-”

“Not important. What _is_ important is that my boss would be _very_ interested in getting their hands on it. They never thought that it worked at all. I would consider very carefully who you tell about it, and try to stay out of the public eye.”

She gave me a surprisingly gentle smile. “And the best way to keep away from publicity is to not become a hero. Do something else with your life. Something safer.” The shapeshifter patted me on the shoulder, and I tried not to tense up to much. “Good luck, Newton. I truly wish you well.”

She walked back to where she had been hiding as a tree and extended a hand. Her arm stretched and bent and warped until the tree stood there once more and she separated from it, a good foot shorter and considerably slimmer as well. She then spread both arms and they extended into wings, and with one giant _flap_ she was in the air and gone.

“We now return you to your regularly scheduled nervous breakdown,” I muttered, pulling off my mask and staring it. “...what the hell was _that_ all about?”


	40. 2. Scene 14

_Scene 14 - October 20th  
_ _Exterior Townhouse, Evening  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

“Alright, say your piece,” I spat at the shapeshifter. “What is it?”

“Ah ah ah,” Legion said, waggling a finger at me. “Not until we’re in a more secure location than, well...” she gestured to the townhouses around her. “And besides, I’m sure you have an earpiece, don’t you?”

I gestured to my uncostumed state. “Sure don’t. I was kind of in the middle of something when you showed up.”

Legion smiled - at least, she showed teeth. “Oh I see! You’re all alone then, aren’t you? You just sent away your only help. No back-up, no costume... poor little lost hero...”

“If you have something to say, then say it, before I go back to ripping you to shreds,” I growled. “I’m not in the mood for banter right now. You’ve kind of ruined what was supposed to be a nice night.”

“Oh? I didn’t interrupt anything _private_, did I?”

“I’m going to give you a count of ten. One...”

She rolled her eyes. “Just give me your assurance that you won’t put this little chat in your report, and I’ll say what I have to say.”

“Then give me a reason not to. Five...”

Legion produced a badge that read _Ambrosia Co._ “Is this good enough?”

“...talk.” I had had no idea she was part of Ambrosia. This... could explain a lot about her unpredictable activities.

She reabsorbed the badge and began examining her nails, as though they could be anything less than perfect given her shapeshifting abilities. “Madam Thornhill is a trifle annoyed with your recent drug bust,” she informed me. “She had plans for that brawn.”

I crossed my arms. “And? It’s my job. A job _your _company is responsible for me having, by the way.”

“Oh, she’s not annoyed at _you_,” Legion assured me. “As you say, it’s your job. No, her ire is directed at a friend of yours. One Maxwell Copperfield.”

My blood froze. “You’re here for Max,” I heard myself say, my voice thick with sudden worry.

“Oh yes. He’s had dealings with our company in the past, you see, and Thornhill isn’t happy that he decided to go against us.”

“What are you going to do to him.”

“Me? Nothing,” Legion chuckled. “And no, I don’t mean that a _different _me is going to kill him. I just want to talk to the man. He’s being given a second chance, you see.” She paused for a moment, but I said nothing. “It won’t even be a hardship for him - I understand that he’s already chosen his next target, and it’s exactly what we would have had him steal. All we want is to borrow it, a little.”

“So what are you doing _here_,” I stressed.

“Here? Nothing, anymore - I’ve passed that task on to a different me. I just need to know Max’s location,” Legion said. “After all, he gave away his hideout’s rough location to you a few days ago - he’s bound to have moved by now.”

“...I...” I rubbed my temples. Really. “What makes you think I’ll tell you?” I finally asked.

She shifted her hand into the badge again. “You still have two favors left, Abraham Armstrong,” she said. “...come now, surely you knew this was coming eventually?”

“So what, just tell you where you can find him, and, I assume, don’t stop you from doing so?”

“Precisely.”

I thought about it. It was certainly simpler than the last favor I had done for the Ambrosia Company. Less dangerous, too. And, I hoped, maybe less evil? ...on the other hand, I had thought that I was _rescuing_ someone, back then. Ambrosia had a way of making things more complicated - they told you only what you needed to know, and more than that, only what would be palatable to you. But, as I had learned from that favor, there was always more beneath the surface. What was Max planning on going after, and what would be the result of Ambrosia borrowing it?

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” I said after a few minutes as she patiently waited. “But you have to tell me what you intend on borrowing from Max.”

She shrugged. “There’s no harm in it, I suppose. He’s after an instructional book written by Merlin. Mr. Mercer would also very much like to see that book, which I don’t think will come as a surprise to you. So...”

“...fine. He’ll still be in his building on the docks,” I told her. “The man’s too lazy to move.”

“...he has magical powers that can literally pack up everything he owns in the snap.”

“And he won’t have used them,” I assured her. “He gets hyperfocused on things and forgets about everything else, unless something drags him out of his tunnel vision - and he doesn’t have anyone to do that for him right now.”

Legion facepalmed. “That’s what I get for assuming the best of people.” She turned to go.

“Wait,” I called before I could stop myself. “Why did you waste one of my favors on something so simple?”

She gave me a smile over her shoulder. “One good turn deserves another. You helped save my life, Canaveral - the least I can do is help you get out from under Ambrosia’s thumb.” Then she was gone in a flurry of black wings, rising up and away as a flock of crows.

I stared. When - how - _what?_


	41. 2. Scene 15

_Scene 15 - October 21st  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Early Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“...and after I was done crying, I walked back home and went to bed,” I said, wrapping up the tale of what had happened while my dad was out last night. “You weren’t home just yet, I don’t think, but both Legion and Canaveral were gone when I got back here.”

Dad was silent for a bit as he digested this. “I’m not exactly happy that such a dangerous villain was right outside our house,” he said eventually. “It doesn’t seem like there was anything you could do about that, though, and you did everything you could - more than you should have maybe, but you did great.”

I stared in surprise.

“What?” he asked. “Did you think I was going to be mad at you?”

“Well... you seemed upset about the gun thing,” I ventured.

He shook his head. “I wasn’t angry that you were in danger. Worried, sure, but if you’re considering being a hero, then you’re going to be in danger a lot, and that’s just something I need to get used to. I was upset because it seemed like you hadn’t _noticed_ the danger, which is another thing entirely.”

Dad tapped his fingers impatiently for a moment. “I’m certain there’s a quote that’s applicable here, but for the life of me I can’t think of it,” he complained. “The point I’m trying to make, though, is that I don’t want you to rush into danger without being aware of it. That’s how you get hurt. And I don’t want you to forget when you _are_ in danger. But what you did last night?” He took my hand and squeezed it encouragingly. “You knew that you were in danger, but you didn’t fall apart until _afterward. _And then, when the danger wasn’t actually over, you held together until it was.

“I admit that I probably don’t know much about what it takes to be a hero, but I would think that being able to put things aside when you have to is important.”

I blinked at him. “Why did I think you didn’t want me to be a hero?”

“I have no idea, kid,” he said with a chuckle. “I would love for you to be a hero. I think you would do amazing. And I don’t want you to give up on that just because you don’t think you can - if you really don’t want to, that’s one thing, but...”

I sighed. “I honestly don’t know at this point, Dad. That fight was...” I drummed my fingers on the table beneath his hand, and he released me. “Exhilarating,” I finally said. “I know that probably sounds weird, but...”

“Not at all, a lot of people think adrenaline feels great.”

I ignored him.

“I enjoyed it as I was doing it. But I was so _useless._ All I did was get in the way.”

“You’ll be trained,” Dad said, trying to comfort me.

“Training? What good will that do when my powers couldn’t do anything? I couldn’t protect myself, I couldn’t help Canaveral, all I could do was...” I sighed, looking away. “All I could do was run away.”

“Quinn. Kiddo.” Dad gently took my chin and turned my head so he could look into my eyes. “You’re letting your anxieties get the better of you,” he told me, seriously. “You’re a beginner at the hero thing - less than that, you haven’t even really started. You can’t compare yourself to people who’ve been doing this five, ten years, and expect to match up perfectly.”

“But I’ll have to, no one is going to slow down to match me -”

“How long have you been training to be a doctor?”

I blinked. “A little over three years, I guess?”

“Does that match up to actual doctors?”

“Of course not, they have another five years of schooling over me, not to mention years of residency before they’re proper doctors on their own-”

“Would you expect yourself to match up to a doctor, then?”

“Well, no, not until I’m through with school-”

“So why are you comparing yourself to heroes when you haven’t even had six months of training?”

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, resting my head on the table. “I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am, kiddo,” Dad said, and even though I wasn’t looking at him I could hear the smile in his voice. “And here’s another secret for you - if someone was injured, and the only other person to help them was some random guy without even your three years of premed, which do you think they would want to help them?”

“...me.”

“There you are then.”

I raised my head. “Maybe it’s just... I feel like I’d be throwing my medical career away, if I went into hero work. It’s not exactly a part-time job, once you’re through the Journeymen. It feels like I’d be losing the progress I’ve made towards one long and difficult career just to start all over in another.”

Dad patted me on the shoulder. “You’d be helping people either way, and either way I’ll be proud of you. And Quinn...” he paused, as though unsure he should say what came next. “Your mother would be too.”


	42. 2. Scene 16

_Scene 16 - October 22nd  
_ _Interior Thrift Shop, Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

_ _

Instead of going home with Dad after school the next day, I decided to head over to the Waterfront district - I had some shopping that I wanted to do. While I still hadn’t made a decision about being a hero, I definitely didn’t want to stop going out and about as Newton - if nothing else, it made commutes much easier. And if I was going to go out in costume and plaid and get it destroyed as I had last night, I was going to need more shirts.

I mean, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting into more fights, but apparently wearing a costume made them inevitable - I was two for two so far. As such, I was out to find all the cheap flannel I could get in the thrift stores that filled the area.

It was going pretty well when I spotted a familiar-looking face - the blonde girl from the Compound, the one who had introduced herself as Loki’s secret identity. She was browsing a little farther down the aisle, with some finds of her own in a bag. What had her name been? Hollis? Sally? No, Holly!

“Hey, Holly!” I called, walking toward her.

She turned to face me, blinking in surprise. “Quinn?”

“It’s nice to see you again,” I said with a smile. “I didn’t expect to run into you!”

Holly smiled back, “It’s good to see you too,” she said, and glanced down at the bag I was holding. “Wow, that’s a lot of flannel.”

I shrugged. “One of mine got kind of destroyed by, well,” I took a moment to peer around with ESP to make sure no one was paying us any attention - it didn’t seem like it. “By Legion - the bossman probably mentioned what happened.”

“Only briefly. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I assured her. “Tore through the shirt, but I think my suit must be tougher than it looks. I’ve got nothing worse than bruises.”

“That’s a relief.” Her eyes flickered up and down me for a moment. “Heh. I like your shirt.”

I glanced down to see what I had pulled out of my dresser today - it was the shirt I had found the same night as the PA4, the <strike>Mr.</strike> <strike>Mrs.</strike> Dr. shirt that had belonged to my mother. “Thanks! Seems fitting, you know? Anyway, I figure if I’m going to be wearing plaid shirts over my costume, I should probably have some extras. What are you looking for?”

She shrugged. “Nothing in particular, really, I just enjoy looking for deals, you know? I like browsing for stuff and then finding the same stuff, or similar, for less in other places.”

“I see.” I paused, then asked, “do you know if Legion’s been caught yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. She hasn’t been seen since that night, actually - the conversation you had with her after retreated from the battle was the last reported sighting.”

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us seeming to be quite sure where to take the conversation, before she shifted a little and spoke again. “You said the shirt was fitting - do you want to be a doctor, then?” I nodded. “What kind? Medical, scientific, magical?”

“Medical. I’m planning on specializing in metahuman medicine - right now it’s just bio, of course. What about you, are you in college?”

“Yeah, I’m a senior at UNV.”

“Oh hey, me too!” I offered a high five, which she returned.

“Nice! I’d say it’s weird we’ve never run into each other, but it’s a big campus and we’re not exactly in the same department.”

“I think we might have been in the same art history course sophomore year, actually,” I said, trying to think. “Big circular hall with a giant holoprojector in the middle?”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “I definitely took an art history course in that room - Pardee Hall, right? But it had so many people that I really have no clue.”

“Hm. Anyway, I think I interrupted you - what were you saying?”

“You’re good,” Holly assured me. “I was just saying that we’re in completely different departments - you’re bio, I’m magical studies and art.”

“Oh, you’re an artist too?” I asked. “What kind? I do a lot of sketching, myself.”

“Sculpture, mostly, although I dabble in all sorts. It helps with the...” she made a gesture which my eyes and ESP both insisted wasn’t possible - her fingers seemed to pass through each other, and she suddenly had too many of them, and also too few, and even though it took less than a second my head was starting to ache. When she was done blatantly breaking the laws of physics with one hand, she was holding a rose.

I tried to ignore the headache, and reached out. “May I?” She nodded, so I took the rose. I felt nothing, but it moved as though I was actually holding it. When I pressed my fingers together, it actually seemed to be depressing my flesh as though there was actually a stem in the way, even though I could feel that there wasn’t.

It was very, very cool, even if it wasn’t helping my headache to have my senses arguing about the truth.

“I don’t actually use illusions, I manually control photons and sound waves,” she told me, “so I _need_ to understand what makes art realistic. All my work is in hyper-realistic styles to help me get that understanding, even though I’d prefer to work in a more cartoony style.” She sighed. “It would nice to be able to make a portrait in less than 20 hours, you know?”

I nodded. “I kind of get what you mean. I’d like to draw more realistically, myself, but I rarely have time for more than cartoony sketches between all my classes. Hell, I have to do most of that _in class.__”_

“I’d love to take a look sometime, if you don’t mind,” Holly offered. “I can probably give you advice on making your drawings a little more realistic.”

“Would you? That would be great. Art classes just don’t fit into my schedule anymore.”

“Ugh, scheduling is the _worst_,” she complained. “Magical studies is easy, but like I said, hyper-realism is so time-consuming. Not to mention my, ah, part-time job, and my independent magical research. And just imagine trying to schedule dungeons and dragons around all of that!”

“How do you find time to sleep?” I asked. “Really, I’m genuinely curious.”

“I don’t,” she deadpanned, “I just cover my eye-bags with magic. Who needs makeup?”

We laughed. After a moment, though, I mentally backtracked. “Hold on, did you say that magical studies is easy? I heard that was one of the hardest majors?”

She shrugged. “Eh. It’s more frustrating than hard. So many mages hoarded - and still hoard - magical lore that there’s just not enough information out there. And there’s no practical magic at all, which is part of my frustration. I mean, how can you call yourself a magician without actually being able to use magic?”

“Or at least wearing a top hat.”


	43. 2. Scene 17

_Scene 17 - October 22nd_  
_Interior Restaurant, Early Evening  
_ _Holly Koval_

I ended up continuing to shop with Kaufman - they had a decent chunk of budget left, and I took it upon myself to help them get the best deals. Plus, they had terrible taste in plaid patterns, and someone had to save them from their own fashion sense. It’s my duty as a hero, I joked when they tried to decline the offer.

After finishing a round of the thrift shops in the waterfront district, we decided to get dinner together at the Shrieking Eel, a cheap seafood place that was a lot better than its name suggested. Somehow, the topic of conversation - which had gone surprisingly smoothly after its initial awkward start - had returned to magic.

“Say, since you’re probably the best magician I actually know,” Kaufman asked as the plate of salmon we were going to share arrived, “do you mind explaining some things? I don’t know much about magic myself, so I’m a little confused about... most of it.”

“Of course!” I said happily. I loved talking about magic - it was my chief passion in life. Sure, heroism was important too, and art was great, but if I was honest with myself, magic was what I really got up in the morning for. “Just tell me if I start to get too long-winded - I know most people aren’t as into it as I am.”

“I’ll stop you if you forget to breath,” they assured me, and I chuckled. “I guess my first question is... how exactly does it work?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“No no, I mean how does it _actually work_? Like, even on a basic level, are you manipulating gravitons or plucking on fundamental strings or what?”

I nodded understandingly. “I know what you mean, Quinn, and I’m sorry to tell you that no one really knows. Magic is a mystery - if it wasn’t, we probably wouldn’t call it magic anymore. We’d call it... I don’t know... thaumaturgy, probably. Finding the thaum, a fundamental particle of magic, is the life’s work of a hell of a lot of magicians, including Arthur Peregrine himself, but no one has ever been able to.

“The most commonly accepted theory is that... well, have you heard about string theory? Lots of tiny dimensions beyond the three spatial dimensions and one for time?”

“Yeah,” they confirmed.

“Well, the theory is that magic somehow taps into those dimensions. Whether they’re so small that they’re impossible to notice or they’re so _large _that they’re impossible to notice, it’s possible, by arranging your mind right, to pull energy from them. Or use them to manipulate your surroundings. Like a two-dimensional creature picking up a pair of scissors and rearranging their paper however they want.”

Kaufman seems to consider this for a moment. “I may not be a physicist,” they admitted, “but I don’t think that actually makes much sense.”

“Agreed,” I said with a nod. “But that’s the most common theory.”

“What’s yours?”

“_I_ think it’s a bit more fundamental than that.”

“More fundamental that string theory? Don’t tell the string theorists that,” they joked.

I gave them a playful shove, and stole the piece of salmon that they had been going for. “Har har. No, really. I think there’s some kind of fundamental law of the universe that makes it respond to thoughts, as long as they’re the right ones.”

“Why would that be?”

“Well, you’ve heard about Arthur Peregrine’s proof of the existence of the soul, right?” I asked.

“I don’t think I’m subscribed to that periodical. Tell me?”

“This was 1962. He was able to prove that soul energy existed, on a third level of reality. It’s like...” I paused to gesture, arranging my mind to create an image hovering in midair. “Imagine that this sheet is the universe.”

Kaufman nodded. “Okay. Is this like the sheet that gravity distorts?”

“Sort of. This sheet is an _empty_ universe,” I clarified. “No particles, no energy. Now...” With a thought, a few places on the sheet were pulled downward and twisted a little. “These are particles - they distort the universe around them, which affects nearby particles.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“Imagine an arrangement of these particles which warped space in a way that created a similar, self-sustaining warp - a new particle, where one hadn’t been before.”

“Don’t the laws of thermodynamics object to that?” they asked.

I shrugged. “It’s not actually new matter or energy - it just looks like it. Let me show you.” I set my illusory teaching aid so that the original particles were in a circle, all pulling the sheet down - in the middle, it rose up above the normal level of the sheet. “You see, particles are on a level below spacetime, in this metaphor. But the energy that makes up the soul lies _above_.”

Kaufman hummed to themself as they digested the idea. “So certain arrangements of particles - which, I assume, include brains?” I nodded in confirmation, and they continued, “will create soul energy. And I’m guessing that soul energy can similarly interact to affect real particles?”

“Essentially,” I agreed. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, really, but you’ve basically got it. Everyone has soul energy naturally, but magical training involves training your brain to generate more or it, as well as to get more control over it. It’s been accepted magical theory for centuries that souls were real, but because they’re on a different level of reality, it was difficult to prove.”

“How did he do it?”

“I’d need a lot more than one dinner to get you to the level you’d need to be to understand that,” I said apologetically.

“Is that an invitation?” they asked, and I found myself blushing, especially as they continued, “because you’re a great teacher, and I’d love to keep learning about this stuff.”

“Um,” I stammered, having never been as thankful for the illusions that constantly replaced my actual appearance as I was then - it made hiding my red cheeks easy. “Maybe? Like I said, I’m very busy.”

“Of course,” they said, accepting my non-answer easily. “That all makes sense to me, I have to say. Although of course I don’t really know anything about magic.” Kaufman - no, Quinn, I decided - was a lifesaver, having effortlessly steered the conversation back to magic. “I do have another question, though.”

“Shoot,” I said, still trying to get my heartrate back under control.

“Canaveral and I met the Magnificent Maxwell last week.”

“He mentioned something of the sort.”

“Well,” Quinn continued, “when he did magic, he did it by snapping his fingers, or waving his arm. But when I’ve seen you do it, you kind of...” they tried to brush their fingers together, presumably trying to replicate one of the gestures I used for my own magic and failing. “...it’s different, is the point,” they said, giving up trying to copy me.

“Well, we’re different people,” I agreed.

They groaned and leaned forward, resting their forehead on the table. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through their hair as they complained, “Holly, come on!”

“It’s the real answer though!” I protested. “Look, souls are created by brains, which are unique, or the next best thing to it - only a few people can duplicate them flawlessly. That means that souls are unique too. So the methods of manipulating yourself to cause your soul to manipulate the world to do magic will vary from person to person!”

“Is that how Canaveral does it without even a gesture?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, never mind.” Quinn sat back up. “So wait, how much do souls have to do with consciousness?”

“Oh, you want _consciousness_,” I said dismissively. “That’s psionic territory, that’s completely different. Well, mostly,” I admitted after a moment,

They rubbed their forehead. “I feel like I’ve stumbled into a vast new world that makes absolutely no sense, even though I know all the words. Is this how people feel when I talk about biology?”

“Probably.” We shared a laugh. “Any other questions?”

“Well...” They took a moment to pay for their half of the meal, and I did the same. “You mentioned that you’re not making magical illusions, right? What _are_ you doing, if it’s not an illusion?”

I dismissed my teaching aide as we rose and begin meandering. “This is the bit where magic and psionics overlap,” I told them. “Imagine a dog.”

“Okay.”

“What kind is it?”

“Golden retriever.”

I nodded. “I was thinking of a beagle, myself.”

“Good choice, but what does that have to do with...?”

“The point is, that we both had the same prompt - a dog,” I said, “but we were thinking of different kinds of dog. Which is the weakness of an illusion.”

“I think I’m missing something here.”

“See, an illusion isn’t real,” I explained.

“Well I get that, but...”

“It’s not even interacting with particles. Light and sound? They go right through.”

“Hold on,” Quinn protested, “how do you see it? Does it make its own photons?”

I shook my head. “Remember how I said this was the overlap with psionics? Illusions are just slapped down on the psychic landscape.”

“...I’m missing something again.”

“Alright, imagine that we both look at that telephone pole there,” I said.

“Why do I have to imagine that instead of actually looking?” they asked.

I ignored their meaningless interjection. “We both look at it and think telephone pole. Our thoughts leave pressure on the psychic landscape - which is basically just the residue of everything everyone has ever thought about something - so now that telephone pole has a slightly stronger impression.”

“I _think _I’m with you,” Quinn said with a smirk.

“Most thoughts just blur out, but the ones that people keep having merge and become stronger,” I said. “That’s how things like tulpas and religions get started - lots of people all thinking the same thing. That’s how even blind psychics can get around - they can sense that something is thought of as a telephone pole, even without seeing it. Hell, it’s how a person can just seem like a Michael or a John or whatever. Even without being psychically sensitive, most people can pick up on a strong enough psychic impression.”

“So an illusion...”

“There’re no shortcuts, with psionics,” I told them. “If you want to make lasting a psychic impression, it takes a lot of thought, a lot of people, or both. But magic _can_ give you that shortcut. Just punch a strong enough impression of a dog somewhere, and people will actually see that dog - their brain picks up on the dog in the psychic landscape and will add one into your vision even though your eyes don’t see anything.”

“Ah!” they said in realization. “But I see a golden retriever, and you see a beagle!”

“Exactly!” I said approvingly, clapping them on the shoulder. “A real dog would have some golden retriever in its impression too, or whatever its breed is. And its behavior, and so on. Your brain will fill in anything that’s not there, yes, but each brain is different, so everyone will see those parts of an illusion differently. Remember Max? What did he look like?”

“Handsome. Short brown hair, sharp cheekbones. Strong jawline.”

I nodded. “Probably not.”

“No?”

“No,” I said again. “Because I see him with curly black hair down to his shoulders and bright green eyes.”

“He wears an illusion?” they asked.

“Yeah, it’s just an impression of a handsome man,” I explained. “Whatever you think of as handsome is what you’ll see.”

Quinn thought about this for a while as we continued walking together. “Illusions sound pretty easy to see through, if you just have a partner,” they said after a while.

“Harder than you think,” I told them. “After all, how often do you compare what you think you see with other people?”

“Fair point.”

“But yeah, that’s a definite weakness. You can put more into your impression if you want to make them more consistent - say, specify the dog as being a golden retriever, and then I wouldn’t see a beagle. But the more details you give to the mental construct yourself, the more likely it will be inconsistent with what the viewers think, and then it’ll act in obviously fake ways. Plus, the more detail you use the more difficult it is.”

“I understand, mostly,” Quinn decided. “And what do _you_ do, instead?”

“One of two methods, both of which are the hard way,” I complained. “One is that I make a mental construct and place it into the actual world as soul energy, not into the psychic landscape. It actually does affect reality as it’s supposed to - at least, for the interactions that I’ve managed to model properly, which is just photons and sound waves for now - but people’s brains don’t cover for imperfections like with illusions, so I need to really _really_ understand how everything works in order to make it realistic. That’s what I have to do for anything that’s going to last when I’m not paying attention to it.”

“And the other?”

“I manually control whatever photons or sound waves I’m working with,” I said. “Also immensely complicated - even more so, if I’m doing anything that needs to be realistic. On the other hand, without the start-up time of creating the mental construct, it’s way faster. That way is good for lasers and shock waves and other offensive uses.”

“I can’t even imagine how much concentration and effort it must take to control individual photons like that,” Quinn said, awed. “How on earth do you do it?”

I gave them a proud smile. “I’m _very_ good.”


	44. 2. Scene 18

_Scene 18 - October 21st  
_ _Interior Hideout, Morning  
_ _Maxwell Copperfield_

I yawned as I stepped out of the shower, already clad in the illusion of my true appearance, but not bothering to wear my suit. After all, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere as the Magnificent Maxwell, today. Well, I’m always magnificent, but I wasn’t going to be _Magnificent_. It was just another day of internet research, along with the usual daily routine.

After my successful theft of Dallas’s thesis, I had read through it to learn where Merlin’s introductory guide had been when the thesis was written in 1964. I had hoped that I would be able to take a brief jaunt to wherever it was and steal it immediately, but had run into a problem.

The book had been in storage in a London museum - the fools had no idea what they had had - but when I took a moment to check that museum’s files, I discovered that it had been transferred to a different branch of the museum for display in 1971. Then in 1976 it was put back into storage, until 1984 when it was gifted to a different museum...

It was tricky enough to track it, given how few of the museums kept their records online, that I completely understood why it had gotten Dallas his thesis. I had spent the last _two months_ tracking the damn thing, and was still only up to 2009!

The latest problem that had risen in my tracking was that the book, along with a number of other artifacts, had wound up back in London in what was apparently the site of the original Camelot, for a cultural heritage festival or some such thing. The festival had been attacked by a magical supervillain and defended by a magical superhero and, with all the magic flying about, most of the relics had somehow managed to fall into the foundation stones of Camelot!

The hero had been very apologetic, of course, but it had been a huge blunder - particularly since she had been unable to recover the items from the stones. Apparently there had been a preexisting enchantment which had probably been laid by Merlin to use the stones as storage, and it was that enchantment which had malfunctioned from the various energies being thrown around. She said that the extradimensional space had been thoroughly locked to her, and there was no way to bring them out.

Well, maybe Murphy Fox was so easily stymied, but extra-dimensional pockets were exactly my area of expertise. I was confident that I would have no trouble extracting the book when I got my hands on the right stone.

The trouble was, no one had made note of which relic had fallen into which stone. From one book, I suddenly had to track 14 large stones, each of which was displayed in different museums across the globe. And when I figured out where they were, I would have to check each one for its contents!

Supervillainy didn’t pay enough for this, I mused as I picked up a phone to dial today’s museum, and put on a British accent. “Hello, Carnegie History Museum? This is Wynne Jones, from the British Museum. No, the one in Denver. I’m calling about an item that our museum donated to yours in 2009, a stone from the foundations of Camelot...”


	45. 2. Scene 19

_Scene 19 - October 21st  
_ _Exterior Restaurant, Noon  
_ _Maxwell Copperfield_

I took a break from calling museums and occasionally hacking databases around lunchtime to, well, get lunch. I had forgotten to go grocery shopping last week and a man cannot live on cereal alone, so I had to venture into the world and acquire food.

I picked a rather nice place downtown that Emilia had introduced me to last year - some truly excellent steak, although the potatoes I had ordered with it today weren’t the best. I spent a pleasant lunch flirting with the corporate-looking woman eating a solitary lunch of her own at the table next to me, and had just asked for the check and a doggie bag when an acquaintance showed up.

“Maxwell Copperfield,” said the hero Starling, as he stared down at me with disdain. “What are you doing here?”

I raised an eyebrow at the man. “Lunch,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes. “I can see that. Why?”

“...I need to eat, Brant,” I reminded him. “Magic can do a lot of things, but I still need food.”

He glared, leaning over the table at me. I refused to give him the satisfaction of leaning back. “I’m watching you, Copperfield. Keep your nose out of trouble. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already walking away, swirling his green cape around him as though he looked cool doing it. The man absolutely had to have the last word. “Asshole,” I muttered to myself.

“Sorry about him,” apologized his partner for the day, Referee. She was the youngest of the Journeymen, and in my opinion the most powerful. She emitted a magical aura around her that averaged out people’s abilities, putting everyone on an fair footing. The weak became stronger, the fast became slower... even the effects of chance were neutralized, supposedly. Everyone was equal in whatever contest took place in her aura, whether it be a fight or a game of football. All that remained was skill. “He’s in a bad mood because Legion isn’t in custody yet.”

I blinked in surprise. “Legion is in town?” She nodded. “How many?”

“Three,” she told me. “Apparently she arrived last night, a few hours before my flight touched down. Canaveral had a run-in with her so we know that she’s only here to talk to people, but...” she sighed. “I’m worried that he’ll want me along next time she shows up. He didn’t have much success against her, so...”

Referee was in high demand for the effects of her aura, I knew - along with civilians who wanted her overseeing tournaments and the like, every MLED director in the country wanted her to help with whatever overpowered menace was threatening their city that day. With her along, anyone was able to take on threats like Legion or Graviton, while without her there were only a few who could do so and have any hope of succeeding.

“How can they justify having you on patrol with her out there?” I asked.

The kid shrugged. “Danger ratings don’t really apply to me,” she pointed out. “Legion isn’t any more or less dangerous to me than anyone else, so...”

“Point.” I glanced at where Starling was sulking a little ways down the street, signing an autograph for someone. “Do you know why he confronted me? Usually he just pretends I don’t exist. Even when we’re out with friends, actually. _Very _rude.” I idly opened up a pocket and snatched the ink out from the pen he was using for the autograph, and the hero muttered as it stopped writing in the middle of his signature.

“We’re supposed to give you a message,” Referee told me. “Apparently one of the things that Legion is in town for is to talk to you, specifically.”

I turned my attention away from Starling. “What? Why would she want to talk to _me?_”

The junior heroine shrugged. “I wasn’t told the reason - all I know is that she’s looking for you.”

“Hmm.” No one really understood what Legion was up to or what her motives were - she had been a mystery since she appeared. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks for the warning, Molly.”

“Hey!” She jabbed me in the shoulder. “It’s Referee when I’m in costume, Max.”

I smirked at her. “Well then, it’s Magnificent to you.”

“_You__’re _not in costume-” she began, but stopped when I snapped my fingers and instantly donned my suit. “Touche.”


	46. 2. Scene 20

_Scene 20 - October 21st  
_ _Interior Hideout, Early Evening  
_ _Maxwell Copperfield_

I was grateful for Referee’s warning, but to be honest, I didn’t change my plans at all. It wasn’t as though Legion could do any harm to me, after all - few could, when I could dump anyone without magical resistance into a pocket dimension and dispose of them however I chose. Legion, to the best of my knowledge, had nothing to do with magic whatsoever, so there was no reason she would have any magical resilience.

I saw no reason to fear the woman - however many of her there were, I could dump up to three tons into my pocket dimensions. And yes, the various tools and tricks I currently kept in them took up probably half a ton - I kept a _lot_ on hand, just in case - but that was still two and a half tons of space if I needed it. If she showed up, I’d simply drop her into a pocket dimension and deal with her later.

So after lunch, I returned to my hideout and continued my work. Not the drudgery of tracking stones through museums - that I left relegated to the morning. No, the afternoons were reserved for my real work, my passion, my one true love - _magic_.

It was a constant struggle to advance my magical knowledge and skill. Oh, it was a struggle I was up to, yes, but magic was so esoteric and complex that it was extraordinarily difficult and time-consuming to expand your knowledge at all. Every type of magic seemed to differ from every other kind - the one illusion spell I had managed to learn required a completely different mindset than my dimensional pockets did. Everyone who used magic, whether magician, wizard, or conjurer, had a particular type of magic that they excelled at, something which came naturally to them. When they sought to learn something _new_, it was far more difficult. But the closer it was to something they had already mastered - or better yet, to their particular specialty - the easier it was. That was why, as I sought to expand my magical repertoire, I was beginning with a modification of the dimensional pockets I had, at this point, mastered.

Typically, when I opened a pocket and dumped something in, it lost all kinetic energy - no matter how fast it had been going, the energy was lost when I reopened its pocket and deposited it back into the world. I had high hopes that I could do the opposite as well - release things from their extra-dimensional storage with _more_ speed. That alone would vastly increase my prowess, but even more than that, it could be my gateway from dimensional manipulation into kinetic manipulation, and from kinetic energy it should be a short step into thermal energy, sound energy, and more...

But first, I had to crack the secret of adding kinetic energy back.

I had tried a number of modifications to my mental state as I cast, most of them simply causing the spell to fail. One, that I had filed under ‘never try this again,’ had apparently released the matter that I had dumped from its pocket as energy instead - a complete matter-to-energy conversion. It had been an enormous explosion, which I only barely managed to contain by pocketing all the air in my test chamber - the shockwave had been unable to travel, and while the incredible heat had scorched the walls, they were made from sturdy enough stuff that it had survived. It was a good thing that I was doing my experimentation on such small objects, too - individual granules of flour, typically.

My current line of experimentation was based on that failure, though - if I could release the things I pocketed as energy instead of matter, perhaps I could release only _some_ of it. Certainly, I could release only a part of an object - that had been easy. But releasing most of it normally while selecting only a few atoms to convert to energy, and attempting to limit it to kinetic energy? That was more of a mental balancing act.

Part of the reason that magical experimentation is so slow is that when you’re creating a new spell, it takes a long time to fix it in your mind. The ways you have to bend your thinking to cast magic at all are as twisted as a hose after a winter in the garage, but it becomes easy with practice. Trying to tie your mind in an entirely new knot? You’re lucky if you can make more than one attempt an hour, between the lengthy meditation and the struggle to figure out what went wrong in the previous experiment.

All of that to say that I made only a few attempts that afternoon. My latest failure had _nearly_ worked, but the energy had come out as thermal rather than kinetic, causing a brief spark as the single grain of flour burst into flame and then burned out. As it was nearly dinnertime, I was about ready to call it a day, when a voice came from behind me.

“Ah, Max,” it said, in a pleasant soprano. “So good to see you.”

I whirled on the intruder who had dared to enter into my hideout. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded, producing one of the guns that the woman from Ambrosia had lost to me last week. I usually didn’t keep guns, returning them to the NVPD for the bounty on criminals’ guns that they paid, but I hadn’t had a chance to bring the latest batch over yet.

The intruder, a woman in green who was built like an Amazon, ignored my question. “Silly of you not to move after last week, but I suppose you never were a smart one.” She smiled at me. “And don’t bother trying to drop me into your hammerspace,” she warned me as I tried to do just that without success. “I ate a tree before I came in - I’m a little beyond your weight limit right now.”

I blanched. “Legion.”

“The one and only,” she said with a smirk, giving a brief bow. “...well, I suppose that’s not quite accurate.” The villain laughed. “But you have no need to worry, Max. I’m not here to fight - in fact...” She grinned fiendishly at me again. “I’m here to help.”


	47. 2. Scene 21

_Scene 21 - October 22nd  
_ _Interior Warehouse, Evening  
_ _“Penelope Page” (Blue)_

I met with my other selves in the backup rendezvous. While my mission had gone off without a hitch, the periodic updates we had passed on by bird mail told me that both of them had run into superheroes. Patron of Ambrosia Co. or not, Canaveral was altogether too good of a person to trust, and too good of a tracker to use the primary safehouse that the company kept in New Venice.

As a result, instead of a nice office space we had to meet in a warehouse. It wasn’t that much of a hardship, I supposed, but still. I - or at least, this iteration of me, one step away from the original Penelope Page, - preferred a little more comfort, if I was given the choice. Ah well.

The third gen iterations arrived shortly after me - one of them slipping in wearing the face of a dockworker, then shrinking down into a butch-looking woman in a waistcoat and a purple undercut. The other came in through the roof after landing there as a flock of birds, showing herself in a green-colored women’s school uniform of some sort. Very few iterations of me had any strong preferences towards any particular look, but we tended to settle on a single aesthetic simply to help distinguish ourselves from each other.

I nodded to them as they arrived. “Student. Butch.” Names, on the other hand, had been trickier, at least for the first year. After that, we all agreed that we simply had to go by whatever name was suggested by our chosen aesthetic, or things got confusing.

They both nodded to me. “How did things go for you, Blue?” asked Butch.

I shrugged. “No trouble on my end - none of the guards had any suspicions, and our imprisoned friend had been rescued by us before. I chose an IT girl for the infiltration and ensured that the cell’s cameras suffered a malfunction when I slipped down there. Thornhill’s best purchaser is free once more, albeit in the IT girl’s body, and a body with signs of a heart attack has been left behind. I thought it would be a fun challenge, after I let them spot me, but the fools apparently didn’t expect me to be sneaking into their base - I can’t imagine why not.”

It was a simple trick, and one that I had done several times before - I could perfectly replicate anyone if I absorbed them, but I didn’t have to limit myself to pure recreation. I was fully capable of mixing and matching as I chose. By leaving behind a copy of the IT girl’s body with Thornhill’s agent’s brain, the agent would be able to cover for the unfortunate that I had used to slip through the MLED’s security. In a week or two she would submit a letter of resignation, and no one would connect it to the sudden death of who they thought the agent had been - the body that had been left behind, of course, was another copy of me, one who sometime today would have arranged herself to appear as though she was having massive cardiac arrest, then replace her own brain with that of the IT girl, who would die before even really waking.

Student rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’ve all done the trick before. We know how it works.”

I glared at her. “You’re one to talk, Student, when you messed up a mission as simple as ‘pass on Laura’s last messages to her family.’”

“It’s not my fault that there were superheroes knocking at the family door! I decided not to potentially screw things up, and took on a different mission!” she defended herself.

I turned to Butch. “And did you finish the mission, after you two decided to swap?”

She fidgeted a little. “Well... after getting the message I had a hunch that the younger of the two heroes, the one who was wearing Laura’s invention, might be her child. I was going to deliver her message to them, but... I decided that it was better to be safe, since I didn’t actually _know_ their identity.”

I frowned at her. “Come on, Butch. Who else was it going to be? They had a key to the house for gods’ sake!”

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend? I don’t know! I realize that it was probably the kid, yes, but you know we’re supposed to respect identity stuff! The heroic patrons get pissy if Ambrosia is sketchy where anyone can see!”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s more of a guideline. Besides, no one knows that Legion is associated with Ambrosia.”

“Um...” Student scratched at the back of her head. “I kind of spent Canaveral’s second favor.”

“...on _what_.” I growled. “Please, enlighten me what was _so important_ that you had to spend one of the very valuable favors that Ambrosia Co. is owed by such a respected figure.”

“Look, he brought Laura back when she was kidnapped!” she cried. “And Laura saved _us,_ remember? We owe him!”

“He didn’t do it for _us_, Student,” Butch snarled. “He’s a hero, it’s just what he does. And besides, that was his first favor. We don’t owe him anything - we owe _Laura_.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about _your_ fuckup,” I snapped at Butch, then turned back to Student. “She is right, though. That’s not a good enough reason.”

Student crossed her arms defiantly. “_I _think we owe him.”

I rubbed my temples - I shouldn’t be able to get headaches, and yet I could feel one coming on. “Fine, I guess. it’s too late to do anything about now. You spent it on?”

“Maxwell Copperfield’s location. We’re on a time limit, I didn’t have time to look,” she said, glancing away from me.

“Fine. And did _that_ mission go alright, at least?”

She nodded, looking back at me. “I just came from it. He’s amenable to lending Miles the book, once he has it - he said that he expects to be able to lay his hands on it in the next month or two.”

“Good.” I returned my attention to Butch. “Now then. We have to be out of the city by tonight, or else Aegis will be on our tail, and you remember how that went for us last time, right?” All three of us shuddered in unison. “How do you expect to fix this?”

“I’ll do the usual resurrection trick,” Butch suggested. “I can even use it to cover for the two of you leaving New Venice.”

“Who are you resurrecting, exactly?” Student asked. A lesser known aspect of our powers was that when we used a template to recreate something, we lost the template, or at least the part of it that had been used. Newly created iterations of us didn’t start with any templates at all, requiring a quick infusion of basic forms like birds that we used for communication. And while bird forms could be done with the imprecise copying that we used to create additional Legions, which didn’t lose the form, resurrecting a person required a perfect recreation of the brain at a minimum. As the oldest Legion here, I was the only one of the three of us to have any people in my memory - or I should be, at least. “You didn’t forget to mention eating one of the New Champions, did you?”

“I was thinking Ventus?” she said, and I thought I heard a sly undertone to her question. “If you just pass him to me...”

I thought for a moment, trying to remember if he was one of the people that Madam Thornhill or one of her vice presidents had noted not to be resurrected. He had been a friend of Canaveral’s early on, as I recalled, and the two of them had fought me together early on, before Canaveral had become the New Champions’ team leader. He had survived then, hadn’t he? So when did I... “Don’t you remember why we took him in the first place?” I asked Butch after a moment.

She nodded. “But it’s been years since then, and no one would believe him if he tried to reveal it at this point. And I bet that Canaveral can convince him to keep quiet. I know it’s always a pain,” she added, “but...”

“And if he can’t, then Ventus will be out of the request list for resurrection.” I considered her request. Ventus wouldn’t have been my first choice to resurrect - he had been taken for a reason, and on the occasions I remembered bringing his brain out to speak to him he had given no sign that he had changed. I found it hard to believe that Butch actually thought he was a good prospect. How had she drifted, to come up with the idea?

Perhaps it had little to do with Ventus. Thinking back a minute to when Student had confessed to wasting one of Canaveral’s favors, Butch had seemed even angrier than me - I was mad about the waste, but she seemed personally offended. Did she expect that dangling Ventus’s resurrection in front of his best friend would be some kind of punishment?

I couldn’t help but to be curious about how she expected it to work, so I responded simply by offering my hand. She took it, and we merged briefly, our nervous systems combining. There was a moment of disorientation as I felt through two bodies and saw through four eyes and heard through four ears, then we separated once more with a shudder. The animal messengers that we used had simple brains, only enough to hold the instructions and message we programmed them with. A direct exchange with another human brain, however, was a hell of a lot to handle - worse than recombining from a group of small animals. We had never even tried recombining full human bodies, suspecting that it would be essentially impossible.

Butch and I took a moment to recollect ourselves, then nodded to each other and to Student. “Alright, Student and I will slip out to the south,” I told her. “You make your distraction to the north. And be sure to do it tonight - I like having a whole continent between me and Aegis.”


	48. 2. Scene 22

_Scene 22 - October 22nd_  
_Exterior City, Late Evening  
_ _“Penelope Page” (Butch)_

I had made my way across the city with little difficulty, choosing to travel in the form of a flock of seagulls. I could, of course, leave the city without anyone noticing, and the thought crossed my mind after they recombined into me a little ways south of the Buff Boys’ territory on the edge of New Venice. After all, the resurrection trick that I was going to pull would mean the end of my brief existence as an individual.

While I had 25 years of Penelope Page’s memories to draw on, I hadn’t been the one to make those memories - with a different brain, I diverged farther from the original Penny every moment I was alive, every breath I took. Blue was one of the longest surviving splits even at only two years old, and at this point no one would mistake her for being the same person as Penny if they spoke to both, although they would probably still guess some relation. How far might I diverge, as a third-generation incarnation of Legion, if I had the time?

But, like spawning fourth-generations, it had long ago been decided that third-generations risked drifting too far from the original if they lived too long. I wouldn’t have been allowed to live longer than three months anyway. I completely understood why, too - the first third-generation to live past four months had gone off the reservation and left, after all, and I had Blue’s memory of voting in favor of a time limit of third-generations like me. How could I blame the other mes when I knew exactly why they had voted that way, and would have made the same choice myself?

So it was without much bitterness that I took the form of an overweight man wearing an expensive-looking suit and some flashy jewelry. There was no way the BB wouldn’t notice me and demand some kind of toll for passing through their territory. I would choose to take offense and reveal myself as Legion. A brawl would break out, and if I held back enough, a hero or three was bound to show up to take me on. Then it was a simply matter of allowing myself to be captured without making it look like I was faking the battle, and I would be exactly where I wanted to be.

“Hey, tubby!” called a voice from behind me, and I couldn’t help a grin. “You’re in Buff Boy territory! Either pay up or go to the gym!” I heard some snickering at what the gang members who had surrounded me no doubt thought was a hilarious gag.

Right on time.


	49. 2. Scene 23

_Scene 23 - October 22nd  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Late Evening  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

I tried my best to stifle a yawn as I leaned back in my chair in the common room. “Any news yet?”

There was a sigh from the console room. “No, Abe, we still haven’t heard or seen anything from Legion,” Ben said through the speaker.

“Maybe she’s left town,” Vulcan suggested, sounding almost as tired as me. The two of us had been on call for the last two days - me as the most experienced at fighting Legion, him as the only one immune to her absorption. After three and seven years as heroes, respectively, neither of us were strangers to long nights, but it was still tiring. Simone, being a Journeymen, wasn’t permitted to be on call for this long and was at home sleeping - lucky kid.

“We have no reason to think that, unfortunately,” I said before taking a sip of coffee. “We know of one thing that she was after, but we’ve sighted at least three bodies. That means, minimum, three objectives.” Vulcan let out a heavy sigh, and I reached up to pat him on the shoulder. “Chin up, kid - Aegis is still on track to be available tomorrow, so it’s only one more night no matter what happens.”

He nodded at that. “You’re right, sir. Just one more night.” The young man offered a tentative smile. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Goddamn it-” I began, but was interrupted by Starling’s voice from the console room.

“We’ve got a firefight on the north edge of town,” he informed us. “Buff Boy territory - looks like Legion decided to exit that way and they took exception without realizing just who they were pissing off.”

Vulcan began shrugging his shirt off as I pulled my cowl over my head. “How many of her are there?”

“Unclear. However many there are, she’s in full monster mode - much farther than she went when you ran into her, Abe.”

“Fuck.” I glanced at Vulcan. He moved surprisingly fast considering his size, but his weight kept him from being able to travel rooftops, which was a necessity for quick travel in New Venice. It would take him a while to get to the north edge. Simone was recharging her teleportation distance today and would be somewhere in Oregon right now - while she could be back in a moment’s notice, it would use up all of that distance, which was rather pointless.

“You go ahead,” Vulcan suggested. “I’ll catch up.”

“I can’t do much against her on my own, unfortunately - Sunday proved that. I can hold my own, but I can’t stop her from leaving whenever she wants.”

“Zookeeper has suggested that she can come and assist you, Canaveral,” said Starling. Emilia was on patrol right now, and her falcon form was fast enough to be anywhere in the city in a matter of minutes. “She believes that her control over her own shape might trump Legion’s ability to absorb her.”

This was my least favorite part of being a leader. I was constantly making calls that sent my best friends, and in this case my girlfriend, into danger. If I had the choice, I would wrap her in cotton and protect her from the world, shield her from everything I could - but I couldn’t make that choice, not when she was _right. _Not to mention that she wouldn’t want me to even if I expressed it. “Send her ahead,” I told Starling. “I’ll be with her in a matter of minutes.”


	50. 2. Scene 24

_Scene 24 - October 22nd  
_ _Exterior City, Late Evening  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

I got to the site of the battle only a few minutes later, as promised, after having moved as fast as or faster than I ever had. I barely paused to take in the scene as I arrived - Legion was, as Ben had said, in full monster mode, while Emilia was presently in the shape of a panther, landing on Legion’s face after a leap, then bounding off again along with a few scraps of flesh. The panther shrank into a falcon just in time to make a tight turn and avoid a large tentacle that had struck out at her.

Legion’s combat form was always a little different, but there were some commonalities whenever she decided to take a battle seriously, as she hadn’t done with me on my own. She always looked something like a mixture between a bear and an octopus - thick fur covered her as a kind of armor and every limb was tipped with razor-sharp claws, and there were far too many of those limbs, moving in ways that were unnatural for anything with bones. She usually had multiple heads, but today it seemed that she had decided to use extra eyes without growing additional heads - her head had a ring of bulbous eyes at the level of her brow almost like a crown, and a set of massive jaws occupied the entire region that should have been a face.

It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Emilia landed on my shoulder and briefly took the shape of a parrot to speak to me, saying, “I can keep distracting her for a little longer - get these gangsters out of the way before she eats them!” Then she was off again, shifting back into the falcon to approach at high speed, dodging and weaving around Legion’s limbs to keep herself from being struck.

As usual, she was right. There were around two dozen thugs lying around in various conditions - most unconscious, some just lying there and moaning. There were even a few that seemed to have had a chance to take brawn, as they were unhurt and their gold-tinged skin was still faintly steaming. Even they were holding back, though, showing a surprising amount of sense for members of the Buff Boys.

I sauntered up to a pair of the juiced-up thugs - a muscular Asian man of about my height, and a similarly well-built white woman a few inches shorter - trying to maintain as casual an air as I could while still watching the battle out of the corner of my eye. “Steering clear of the battle?” I asked.

The man glanced at me. “We’re no fools,” he said in a deep voice with a faint accent - Chinese, I thought. “We would have no chance against a monster like that.”

The woman nodded. “We’re just watching until Rube shows up,” she said.

“It certainly is a spectacle,” I agreed. “I can’t just stand around and watch, though - I have to get all of your friends here clear as well.” I gestured to the groaning and unconscious bodies that littered the street - hopefully no one was dead, but it remained to be seen. “Maybe you could lend a hand?”

They gave each other a look, then shrugged simultaneously. “I suppose the boss might be annoyed if we didn’t,” the woman admitted. “Alright.”

“Speaking of your boss,” I asked before they walked away, “you wouldn’t happen to know why there was no one fun at last week’s engagement, would you?”

“...fun?” the man said.

“Metas,” the woman guessed. “It was on Brewer’s word - she said nothing would go wrong with those buyers. Shows what she knows. Ridealong’s kind of pissed at himself right now for listening to a newbie.”

“More pissed at her,” the other thug commented.

“The MLED thanks you for your information,” I said with a grin, splitting off to start pulling bodies away from Legion.

A few minutes later, I and the BB thugs that had stayed away from Legion had gotten all of their fallen comrades out of danger. The shapeshifting villain, meanwhile, had abandoned much of the mass she’d brought with her, leaving it as a tree rooted into the ground, in favor of taking to the air after Zookeeper. My girlfriend was, thankfully, managing to stay ahead of her - while Legion was a far larger bird at the moment and would deal massive damage if she caught Emilia, Emilia was taking more maneuverable shapes.

It was one of the things that my girlfriend had over the other shapeshifter, in my completely unbiased opinion. Zookeeper’s power was limited to actual animals, while Legion could take on any form that she could imagine - but Emilia wasn’t limited by mass. No matter what form Legion took, in order to remain herself - whatever that meant for a woman who could duplicate herself as much as she wanted - she had to retain her human brain. That meant a pretty sizable bird, one which couldn’t make sharp turns all too easily. Emilia’s power, on the other hand, didn’t care one wit about mass - she could become an elephant as easily as an ant.

Speaking of brains... last time I had run into her I hadn’t been able to figure out where Legion was keeping her brain. The head was the first guess, but I hadn’t struck it in my attempts to attack her body, either. With the bird shape she currently wore, however, I could clearly see where the brain had to be. If I could strike her there...

It would definitely draw her attention, though. “Hey guys,” I said to the two thugs that had helped me clear the field, “I’m gonna do something stupid and draw Legion’s attention.”

“Who the hell is Legion?” the woman asked.

I pointed.

“Oh.”

“Anyway, you two had better get off the field too. You don’t want to be anywhere near whoever she’s mad at.”

“That’s a she?” said the guy, staring.

“...yes.” I gave them a gentle shove. “Now get going.”

They backed off, but not very far.

...eh, close enough. I took half a second to look for a convenient weapon - a manhole cover or piece of rubble of around the right size would be ideal - but didn’t see any. Instead, I stomped, twisting energies as I did, and with a loud crack, a chunk of the pavement came loose - another momentary exertion sent it to my hand. The piece of pavement, I noted with pleasure, had come loose perfectly shaped for my purposes. I reeled back and hurled it at Legion’s head, twisting with my power to give it a force more appropriate to an oncoming train.

Despite its speed, Legion’s unnatural-looking bird form twisted in midair and avoided it. That goddamn...

I winced as my projectile struck the building that had been behind her - that was poorly thought out. I was usually better about compensating for whatever was behind my target.

The building shuddered for a moment, one of the windows cracked, then a large portion of its roof began breaking off with a loud rumble. It came down in pieces right on both Legion and Emilia.

My heart stopped as dust rose - the fall had been too unexpected and too fast for me to react to - Emilia, having been engaged in life-or-death combat with a supervillain, had surely been caught in it. This was all my fault, I had hurt or killed the woman I-

I blinked in surprise as the dust began to settle. A falcon was lying on its back on a pile of rubble, seeming somewhat stunned but unharmed. A moment later a trenchcoat, launched into the air by the impact of the collapse, drifted down over it. She was okay!

The cloth shifted, and a moment later Emilia stood in human form once more, tying the coat closed to cover herself. She reached into a pocket and produced a domino mask which she slipped on. “That was lucky,” she noted as she began to make her way down the pile. “I think that Legion is somewhere underneath... all of that.” She gestured vaguely at the pile.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” I cried, rushing to meet her and pulling her close. I remembered just in time that we had agreed not to make our relationship public until we had been together for at least a year, and restrained myself to only a hug - even so, she pressed a brief kiss to my neck as she sank into my arms. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m okay,” she assured me. “Like I said, I was lucky.”

“You’re welcome!” came a cheerful voice from behind us. I released Emilia and turned to see the smiling face of Rube, the Buff Boy’s enforcer, considered by the MLED to be the second most dangerous villain in New Venice.


	51. 2. Scene 25

_Scene 25 - October 22nd  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

“Thank you,” I cautiously said. “Is she...”

He shrugged. “I’m sure she’s fine - Legion is a tough cookie, after all. It’ll take more than a little rubble to take her out.”

“Thank you for not burying me as well,” Emilia said, seeming a little nervous. She had never had any trouble playing nice with our friends on the other side like Essa, Maria, and especially Max, but Rube was _not_ a friend. The man was a psychopath, with little care for how his luck powers affected others, and it was surprising that they had bothered to protect Zookeeper.

“I’m not here to fight you,” he noted, “so what would be the point in hurting you? Particularly when as a hero, you’re bound to protect me once Legion gets out from under there.” And there it was - only helping because it was a benefit to him.

“Even so, our thanks,” I said again. I didn’t particularly like having a casual chat with him either, if I was being honest with myself, but it was my job - particularly given my cultivated image as the friendly, approachable face of the MLED in New Venice.

I idly wondered if we would be able to get a snapshot of Rube’s face from my cowl’s camera - unlike most villains in the city, they hadn’t been identified. Not in a way that would stand up in court if necessary, anyway. There was always something that messed up the image or the procedure - glare off a window, a painter unknowingly painting over a hidden camera, and in one memorable case a bird that had flown by at just the right time and place to cover the man’s face.

“Abe,” Starling whispered in my ear, “your helmet cam has been filled with static since that rubble came down. I can see rough details, but...” Yeah, that figured. And Zookeeper, of course, couldn’t carry that sort of equipment.

“Anyway,” Rube said, reaching into his hoodie and producing a pistol. “I have a hunch that Legion is about to make a reappearance, so...”

Indeed, seconds after he spoke, the rubble began to roll away and crumble as from underneath the pile, something rose. Something large and broad, far bigger than the shapes Legion had been taking up to this point.

It resembled a tree in the same way that a sea anemone resembled a bush. Thick tendrils hung down from branch-like arms, each long enough to reach the street and writhing, ready to grab anyone within reach. The trunk of the monstrous thing was ringed by eyes, with a single enormous mouth filled with far too many razor-sharp teeth.

“And who are you supposed to be, exactly?” Legion boomed out, her voice both magnified and deepened by her new form.

“Lucky for me that she’s never heard of me,” Rube quipped, gesturing vaguely with his pistol. It fired in the middle of his arc, the bullet sailing off... somewhere.

“I hate her,” Emilia muttered, glaring at Rube. “She has no right to be as dangerous as she is while when she doesn’t take this shit seriously.” Suddenly she was a falcon again, her coat falling empty to the ground as she winged to avoid a chunk of rubble that Legion had hefted in a few tentacles and flung at us.

I slapped the car-sized piece of rubble, twisting with my power as I did, and it stopped dead in midair, falling to the ground a moment later and creating a barrier between us and the monstrous tree Legion had become. “Any ideas?” I asked Rube as I crouched behind it, trying not to let it sound bitter.

He shrugged, not even bothering to use the cover I had created. “I don’t make plans, Canaveral, things just work out for me.” Another chunk sailed directly at his face and was interrupted by piece falling from the sky - it must have only just dislodged from the building.

“Great,” I sighed. “Console, what’s Vulcan’s ETA?”

“It was three minutes, but after that gunshot a moment ago the streets are clearing in a wide radius. Call it 90 seconds.”

“Again, you’re welcome,” Rube said with a bright smile.

“I hate you,” I muttered, and launched myself into the air over the top of the rubble.

Three tentacles began to snake through the air towards me, but a twist of power adjusted my trajectory to send me between them. As I sailed through the air, I produced a cluster of ball bearings and sent them towards Legion’s eyes, popping several of them.

At that point I was caught by the leg by a fourth tendril that I hadn’t seen, and I bit back a scream as it wrenched me in an unexpected direction - there was an unpleasant pop as my knee dislocated.

Emilia, still in the form of a falcon, let out an angry screech and zoomed towards me. In the blink of an eye she was a jaguar in midair, tearing through the tentacle that held me, then she was a bird once more before she touched the ground. The tentacle, severed from its branch, was now falling and me along with it, but I was caught bare moments later by a long trunk - Emilia as an elephant didn’t let me touch the ground and set me down safely before turning into a parrot and landing beside me.

“Are you alright, Navi?” she asked, somehow conveying her worry despite the limitations of a parrot’s voice.

“I’m okay,” I said with a grunt. “Just a dislocated knee. But without Anima here...” I lacked the enhanced toughness or regeneration of some heroes - I relied on mobility and dodging instead. I instinctively reduced the force of blows that hit me, and if I was expecting them I could negate the hits completely as I had with the giant chunk of rubble Legion had thrown, but a surprise like that could wreck me. And given my reliance on mobility, a dislocated knee put me out of the fight without Anima’s healing abilities on hand.

“Vulcan will be here soon,” Emilia assured me. She hopped a little closer, onto my shoulder, and rubbed my cheek briefly with her beak in a tiny bird kiss. “Just wait here.” Then she was gone.

God, I loved that woman.


	52. 2. Scene 26

_Scene 26 - October 22nd  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

I lay back, trying not to move my leg any more than necessary. “Console, status update,” I ordered.

“I have no eyes on the battle at present,” he noted, “but Vulcan is only 30 seconds away. I’ve notified the medical team to be prepared to treat your knee and sent a message to Anima, but she probably won’t be in until tomorrow.”

I nodded. “...I should give you a view of what’s going on, shouldn’t I?”

“Please.”

With a grunt of effort and a spike of pain, I propped myself up on my elbows and focused on the battle, allowing Starling to view the mayhem through my cowl’s camera.

My wonderful girlfriend was still deftly swooping around the tentacle-adorned tree monster, neatly avoiding the tendrils as they attempted to grab at her. As I watched she was caught by one wing and swiftly trussed up by two more tendrils, and I tensed in worry, but a moment later she was a rhinoceros and the tentacles, were forced off of her suddenly far larger form. She shifted back into a bird before she hit the ground, and continued harrying Legion without pause.

Unlike me, Zookeeper _was_ lucky enough to have regenerative powers. Specifically, injuries she received in one form didn’t carry into any others - they persisted if she returned that that shape before she had had time to recreate the form, but she kept a large enough collection of the most useful shapes that it was rarely an issue. The injury she had likely suffered as a hawk a moment ago were now gone, having become what I thought was an owl of some sort.

Meanwhile, Rube simply stood and watched - the asshole didn’t seem inclined to contribute. He glanced up at the sky, and I followed his gaze to see a star that seemed to be getting brighter rather quickly.

“Starling-” I began, intending to ask if he was seeing it too, but I was interrupted by a thunderous crack like a cannon going off as what I could only assume to be a small _meteor_ struck the tree squarely in the trunk, setting it on fire and destroying at least half of the branches when it exploded on impact.

Rube observed Legion for a moment as she released a deep and pained scream, then nodded decisively. “My work here is done!” he declared, then turned on his heel and left.

Behind me, I heard another loud retort, but one I recognized - the sound of Vulcan using his incredible strength to run, each step cracking the asphalt beneath him. He barreled into Legion as well and the flames swiftly began to die down as the metal man absorbed the heat, frost beginning to form over her monstrous body after mere moments.

He began tearing her apart with a startling amount of ease - perhaps she was still stunned by the meteor Rube had apparently summoned. She began fighting back after a moment, tentacles sliding ineffectively off his steel hide, then twisting around each other to thicken and attempt stronger blows, but to no avail.

Within a few moments, it was over.


	53. 2. Scene 27

_Scene 27 - October 22nd  
_ _Exterior City, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

The aftermath of the battle, of course, took a lot longer.

First there were statements to give to the police officers who arrived a few minutes later - the response time in this Buff Boy-controlled part of town was horrendous. Then we had to wait even longer for a group of MLED agents to arrive with a containment truck to transport Legion back to the Compound. Then it turned out that the truck wasn’t quite large enough to fit all of her, so Vulcan had to use himself as a plasma torch to cut some of her frozen branches and tendrils off until she fit. Then I had to give an official statement to a journalist from the NVT who had showed up. Then it was slowly making our own way back, Vulcan holding in his arms as Emilia fretted. Somewhere in there an EMT had given me a brace to help me manage until I could get back to the more advanced facilities at the Compound.

The work didn’t end there, of course. There was a more extensive debrief with Director Shepard - or actually, at this time of night, Deputy Director Blackmire. There was my personal policy of holding a debrief with the other combatants to determine what we did well and what we could have done better. There was Dr. Rogers fussing over my knee when I got back. There was Miriam fussing over my knee when he was done, and then magically donating some of her life force to heal me, even though she wasn’t supposed to have been in tonight. There was Rogers fussing over my knee _again_ because he had never trusted magic. There was the paperwork to fill out with the PR department because I had talked to the press. There was double-checking all the paperwork that Zookeeper and Vulcan had filled out, and the one-on-one debrief with Blackmire about how the team had handled itself during the combat...

I liked being a hero. It was what I had always dreamed of being, and I liked almost everything about it. I liked being a role model, I liked making people feel safe, I liked helping people. I liked fighting bad guys, and I liked bantering with the ones who engaged in banter. But I had never planned to become a team leader, and the vastly increased responsibilities I had as the leader _weren__’t_ something I liked. They were important, yes, so I did them, but I wasn’t happy about it.

Eventually, however, all the paperwork was finished, and I could finally rest. I woke up Emilia, who had been dozing in the common room while she waited for me, and we went home.


	54. 2. Scene 28

_Scene 28 - October 23rd  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Early Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Holly and I had parted ways not long after dinner, but the following morning she texted me to let me know that Legion had been captured - or one of them had, at least, and the other two were have thought to have left the city - and as such the Compound was no longer on high alert. She had invited me to come by whenever I was available to spend more time with the Journeymen, since my visit had been cut short. So after my classes were over for the day, I headed over to the Compound.

The receptionist was the same young man I had met a few days ago, and he greeted me politely. “Welcome back to the Metahuman Law Enforcement Division’s New Venice Compound,” he said as I approached the desk.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” I noted.

He shrugged. “There’s a reason it usually just gets called the Compound. Are you here to register with the DMO today, sir?”

I bit my tongue - it wasn’t worth arguing about - and shook my head. “No, I’m here to continue the visitation that was interrupted on the 20th.”

“Of course. I just need to call ahead to confirm your invitation.” He pressed a button and picked up the phone. “Hello, Anima? The young fellow who was visiting a few days ago has come again.” The receptionist listened to her response, then nodded. “I’ll send him right up.” He smiled at me. “You remember the way?”

“Yes. Do I need a new passphrase?”

“Yes, one moment...” he tapped at his keyboard for a few seconds, then said, “your passcode for the elevator will be...” He sighed. “Holy elevating machine, Starling.”

“...really?”

“It’s a random generator, four words from the dictionary. It’s not usually that relevant or coherent.”

“Right, it was ‘correct horse battery staple’ last time.”

The man shrugged. “Anyway, you’re clear to head on up.”

I didn’t bother to pull on a mask from the elevator’s visitor tray this time. After all, I had already decided that I wasn’t going to keep my identity from the heroes, whether or not I ended up joining.


	55. 2. Scene 29

_Scene 29 - October 23rd  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

When I reached the central common room, I saw a couple faces I recognized and a couple I didn’t. Simone was there, playing a video game with Hypnos, and they were joined by a redheaded man in a tank top that showed off a muscular build almost as impressive as Simone’s. Along with the three gamers there was also a young ginger girl watching them play, and a curvy ginger in a blue bodysuit and green jacket that I recognized as Anima, the most senior member of the New Champions.

I raised my eyebrows as I stepped into the room. “Should I have dyed my hair red? I feel like I missed a memo here.”

Anima chuckled, then stepped forward and shook my hand. “Quinn, right? I’m Anima. It’s nice to meet you properly.” I must have been visibly confused at the ‘properly’, because she explained, “I was on console duty the night you ran into Abe.”

“Ah.” I glanced at the other two redheads. “Can someone finish the introductions? You two weren’t here last time, I don’t think.”

The redhead grinned up at me from where he sat. “I’m Jack Forester - Sequoia. I was on patrol with Anima that night.”

“I’m Molly Madigan, aka Referee,” said the girl with a shy smile. “I was out of town.”

“She travels all the time!” Simone complained, grabbing the younger girl in a hug and pulling her close. “She’s our baby and she’s always gone!”

“...let me go, please?” Molly quietly asked, and the black girl released her without protest.

“Why do you travel so much?” I asked. She couldn’t have been out of high school - was she an athlete? A performer?

She mumbled something that I didn’t catch. “Speak up, dear,” Anima encouraged her.

“I go to martial arts tournaments a lot,” she said a little louder. “They pay me for my aura of fairness, and I usually get private lessons too.” Then she pulled her legs up on the couch and hugged them.

“She’s shy around people she doesn’t know,” Jack told me. “It’s nothing personal - I’m sure she’ll warm up to you soon.”

I nodded and made a mental note not to press her, then I glanced around. “Where’s Holly?”

“Loki is on console with me this afternoon,” Anima said. “I stepped away for a moment to meet you. I should go join him again, though.” She glanced at a clock on the wall. “Actually, he goes off console duty in just a few minutes. I’ll let him off early.” She smiled at me again before leaving. “Maybe we’ll get to actually talk next time.”

“So,” I said, leaning over the back of the couch between Jack and Hypnos. “What are your pronouns?”

“He/him,” said Jack.

Molly mumbled into her legs, which Simone translated as, “She/her.”

“Anima uses she/her as well,” Hypnos finished.

I nodded. “Noted. I use they/them, myself.”

“And I’m using he/him, since I’m in costume,” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and grinned at Loki, who cut a very different figure in a tight black bodysuit than he did in the loose flowing garb he had worn on the previous occasions I had met him. Not only was he presenting male rather than female - and still quite attractive, in an androgynous way that I aimed for but couldn’t pull off nearly as well - but his hair was far shorter and darker, a stylishly-unkempt black mess rather than flowing blonde locks. Even his eyes were different, deep black instead of bright blue. “Great to see you again,” I said, offering him my hand. That made all five of the Journeymen in one room!

He glanced at it, then back up to my face with a raised brow. “Seems a little formal, don’t you think?” he said, then pulled me in for a hug.

“Unexpected, but far from unwelcome,” I said after a moment of stunned surprise, returning it.

“...kiss, kiss, kiss...” came a soft chant from behind me, and Loki and I both glared at Simone, who quickly turned back to the TV as though still immersed in a video game. Her deception was undermined by the fact that it was paused.

“Do I need to use the spray bottle again?” Loki asked, one materializing in mid-air next to Simone, who vanished and reappeared on Molly’s other side, jokingly hiding behind the younger girl.

“Hey, speaking of powers,” I began, leaning over the couch again. Loki pulled his mask down to hang around his neck and moved to lean over the other couch in a similar position, between Simone and Molly. “How does that work, exactly?”

“How do powers work?” Hypnos asked.

“No, that.” I pointed at the spray bottle.

“I explained yesterday, didn’t I? It’s a mental construct built from soul energy which-”

“No, I mean how does it actually spray someone? It’s just light and sound, right?”

“Sound waves are a vibration of air molecules,” Loki began, “and if they’re being excited just right, your brain will interpret them wrong - particularly when paired with the right image. It took some experimentation, but I figured out how to make it feel like you’re being sprayed with a light misting of water.”

“How long did that take?”

He shrugged. “A few months, maybe?”

“And how often does it come up?”

The bottle dodged around Molly and sprayed Simone, who yelped. “You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, hey, you probably don’t know our powers, right?” said Jack. “I assume everyone who was there told you, but...”

I made an uncertain, ‘sort-of’ gesture. “A little bit - you’re public figures, after all. But not fully, no. You turn into a tree, right?”

He laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. But no,” he flexed, and his body quite suddenly was wood-grained with green, leafy hair rather than flame-red. “I transform into a sort of magical wood, not fully into a tree. The family legend is that we’re descended from a dryad. I get stronger and tougher, and...” he held up one hand, and the wood began to grow. In a few seconds, he had produced a rough but identifiable wooden sailing ship the size of a beer bottle, which he handed to me. “I can’t grow anything too complicated, at least not yet. They also crumble to nothing when I turn back.” He did so, and the ship broke apart like a dry leaf. “It’s classed as Self Buff 1 and Touch Control 2.”

“I have an aura that buffs and debuffs people to make things fair,” Molly spoke up, surprising me a little. “Area Control 2.”

“I have ESP and weird Newton’s-Law-Enabled Telekinesis,” I told them.

“So, do you have any questions for us?” Jack asked. “I was told that you’re still making your mind up about whether or not to register as a hero, right?”

“Yeah, I’m trying not to make any snap decisions,” I said.

“Well, if you have any questions for us, feel free to ask.”

“I’m kind of curious about scheduling, I guess. What are you all expected to do? How much of a time commitment is it?”

“It varies from person to person,” Loki told me. “Molly and Jack are both under 18, so there’s legal stuff preventing them from working even as much as Simone and I do. There’s 4 mandated training hours a week, but beyond that it tends to be what the boss thinks you’ll be useful for and what you’re willing to take - the full heroes don’t get to veto their hours, but we do, since the whole Youth MLED thing is supposed to be for training purposes.”

“My boyfriend here is the only one who really is here just to train his powers,” Jack said, nudging Hypnos. “So he never takes shifts with combat expected.”

“I usually get paired with people who can’t travel as fast on their own,” offered Simone. “No one in the New Champions is _slow,_ really, but Canaveral and Zookeeper are much faster than, say, Vulcan. And he and Starling are both faster than Anima, so I’m with her a lot when she patrols.”

“Who sets those schedules?”

“Canaveral, as the team leader for the New Champions,” said Loki. “He works with either Director Shepard or Deputy Director Blackmire to put them together. Sometimes they pull me in - they put me on a leadership training track last year.”

“So who do you think I’d be working with most of the time?” I asked him.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, and my eyes were momentarily drawn to the curve of his jawline and his lips before he spoke. “Well, you’ll have at least one shift with all the Champions, either on patrol or on console - that’s standard, to see how you work with everyone. After that... I’ve heard that you move a lot like Canaveral does, your powers have a bit in common, and he’s certainly taken a liking to you, so I’d guess that you’ll be working with him a lot.”

“Enough boring superhero talk,” said Hypnos, startling me as he had been quiet for a while. “What do you guys think will happen with Legion?”

“Freezing seemed to work to stop her from shapeshifting,” Jack commented, “so maybe they’ll stick her in a walk-in-freezer and call it a day.”

“Don’t be silly,” Simone said. “They’ll have to incinerate her. No other way to keep her from escaping.”

“I literally just said that the freezing works-”

“Canaveral told me that she can resurrect the people she’s killed,” I said. “I imagine that they’ll try and convince her to bring back a hero or three, as well as to say why she was here.”

“That seems like there would be a high price,” Jack said dubiously. “If my understanding of her powers is right, that would effectively be her giving up her life, right? There’s no hivemind, so each of them is a person all on their own.” I hadn’t thought about that - was the MLED really going to ask a prisoner to commit suicide for them?

“The problem is that there’re some people who are incredibly difficult to actually hold if they don’t want to be there,” Loki said. “Teleporters are one of them. Shapeshifters aren’t, usually, but they don’t usually have the level of combat ability that Legion has, or the simple breadth of different options.”

“Wait, but aren’t there ways to shut down people’s powers?” I asked. “Drugs and control collars and such?”

“Control collars aren’t real,” Hypnos said dismissively. “Neither are power-dampening drugs.”

“Yeah, that’s just Hollywood,” Simone agreed. “Shock collars triggered by power use, maybe, but power dampening isn’t a thing unless someone else’s power is doing it. And those powers are in short supply.”

“No, that can’t be,” I protested. “There’s definitely a drug that can shut powers down! It was used on me and Canaveral the night we met!”

Everyone stared at me in confusion. “You must have misunderstood something-” Simone began.

“It’s called equality,” Loki said, and all eyes snapped to him. “It shuts down most cosmic or natural powers, but doesn’t work on most magical powers. A rainbow-looking gas, right?” I nodded.

“How did you know about it?” Simone asked.

He shrugged. “Prisons don’t use equality for a simple reason, though - no one manufactures it. Or almost no one,” he allowed when I raised an eyebrow. “It’s expensive and difficult to make, and there are villains who’ll destroy anywhere that they even think is producing it. Whoever made the vial that was used on you,” he said to me, “must have been either very brave or very crazy.”


	56. 2. Scene 30

_Scene 30 - October 24th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Morning  
_ _Susan Shepard_

I sighed in displeasure as I looked at my schedule for the day. “Really, Henry? You put Legion’s interrogation as the first thing on my schedule?”

My deputy director shrugged. “I knew you would want to handle such a dangerous villain yourself,” he said, and I had to admit that the man was right. “And the rest of your day is already packed with other appointments. There was no other time, Susan.”

I pulled a face, knowing that I was being childish, but nodded. “Thank you, Henry. I’ll see you tonight.” My deputy director was a night owl and always had been - he was much happier as my deputy, taking the night shift, than he had been as director. To be fair, I was happier too - I didn’t mind the night shift, but they were boring more often than not. Although I complained to him - and he was the only one in the MLED that I allowed myself to be so informal with, and vice versa - I enjoyed having a full schedule, and night shifts tended to be slow. Most crimes happened during the day, contrary to what cop shows might claim, and so do job orientations, press conferences, interviews, and all the other things than an MLED Director had to accomplish.

Yes, I enjoyed my job. What would I fill my time with if I wasn’t here, after all?

Henry nodded to me and began wheeling himself out of the office we shared. I took a few minutes to skim his summary of the night once more - we had gone over it before he left, but I liked to keep things fresh in my mind - then brushed a bit of dog hair off the cuff of my suit jacket before I began making my way down to the cell where we held a copy of Penelope Page, better known as Legion.

I nodded to the trooper manning the checkpoint outside the cell block wing as he saluted me. “Morning, agent.”

“Ma’am,” he responded. He checked the badge that I held to him, then the itinerary on his tablet. He then gestured for me to step through the scanner. It beeped red as I did, detecting the pistol I wore beneath my jacket, but of course, as the director, I was cleared to take a weapon into the cells, and he made no protest. Instead, he unlocked the heavy metal door and waved me by.

I gestured for one of the two agents who manned this side of the cell block entrance to follow me, and she fell into step behind me without question, speeding her pace slightly after a moment to match my longer stride. Within a few moments, we were there.


	57. 2. Scene 31

_Scene 31 - October 24th  
_ _Interior Cell Block, Continuous  
_ _Susan Shepard_

Legion’s cell had been kept refrigerated in the hopes that it would slow her shape-shifting ability down, after the pleasant discovery that Vulcan freezing her over seemed to have suspended her. It wasn’t as cold as he could go - it was hard to match the level of cold that the man could create by absorbing heat when all you had to do it with was technology - but it was still well below freezing, and I saw that she was moving sluggishly.

I sat down at the table crossing the force field that separated the inside of the cell from the outside. After a moment, Page began making her way into the seat on her side of it and sat down. I spent the long seconds it took her to do so observing the villain’s current form.

After the various chunks of demonic tree that Vulcan had frozen and dismembered were left in the cell, they had slowly congealed back into this form - a heavily-built woman wearing shades of purple, with shaggy violet hair that hung down to around her chin. Like Loki’s hair, it was the kind of perfectly-designed unkempt that only superpowers could maintain in reality.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Director Shepard?” she finally asked.

I raised a brow. “Don’t you know, Miss Page? This isn’t the first time you’ve been captured, after all. It’s not even the first time I’ve been the one interrogating you.” A slight exaggeration of the truth that I had been observing as part of training to become a deputy director, several years before Henry had suffered his injury and stepped back. I wondered if she would call me out on it - the villain always maintained that she didn’t have a hivemind, but it was an open question whether she was lying about it or not.

She shrugged. “From my perspective, it is. No hivemind, remember?” It was certainly a consistent story, at least. “Every version of me that’s come through these cells dies. What do you think of that, Director?”

“I think that’s getting a little ahead of things,” I said calmly. “Let’s start with the basics.” The villain flapped a hand dismissively - it was almost funny to see, given her current slowed motion. “Are you Penelope Page?”

“Arguably, yes. Are you Susan Shepard?”

I ignored that. “Have you had your rights read to you, and do you understand them?”

“Once I thawed out some, yeah, and I understand them. How about you, read any good books lately?”

“What brought you to New Venice?”

“Seeing friends,” she said with a grin. “How long have you been director?”

“Who did you have contact with since arriving?”

“I spent some time with myself, and some with these really hunky guys. How’s _your_ love life?”

I narrowed my eyes with her, realizing that her appearance was shifting. Her hair was was growing shorter and curlier, shifting into a blonde hue - her heavy built was gaining muscular definition as well as losing an inch of two of height - her clothes were darkening and becoming a full suit rather than the semi-formal waistcoat she had been wearing. In fact, she was taking on a pretty good approximation of _my_ form. “What do you expect to accomplish with this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“With what?” she asked. The voice wasn’t quite right though, and neither were the facial features - without the guidance of having devoured someone, she couldn’t perfectly replicate a person. She could get damned close though.

“This,” I said, gesturing to her.

She shrugged. “My job, I suppose.”

“Your job is to impersonate me?” I asked.

“Not at all. I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“To who?”

“Now that would be telling.” She smirked - her voice was already much closer to mine, just from those few sentences of practice. It was, in fact, a little unnerving, but I refused to let her get to me. “Let’s talk concessions.”

“I’m not finished with my questions. Like I said, you’re getting a little ahead of things.”

She shifted position a little, straightening her back and adjusting her expression to match my posture more closely. “I don’t have any intention of sitting through a boring interrogation when I could be doing what I came here for.”

“Did you come here to be captured?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. But, I was noticing, she seemed to be avoiding questions that she didn’t want to answer, which would be answer enough if it was true. Canaveral had told me, during his debriefing, that he thought she had gone down too easily - Zookeeper hadn’t thought so and neither had Vulcan, but I was inclined to trust Abe’s instincts.

“That wasn’t why I decided to come to New Venice,” she denied. “I mean really, I could be captured by the MLED _anywhere_.”

“Why here then?”

Legion smirked, but said nothing.

I went through some more standard questions, but she remained silent. It was clear that she was waiting for her own preferred topic to come up, and despite her denial it seemed obvious to me that she _wanted_ to make the deal. It was the same thing that had been observed by directors across the country every time a Legion was captured - she always had some concession in mind in return for resurrecting one or more heroes. I didn’t like doing what it was obvious she wanted, but the benefits of bringing lost heroes back from the dead couldn’t be denied, so after I got through the standard interview without success I let her make her demands.

“Let’s talk deals,” I said, and she subtly perked up in exactly the same way I did when I could smell my secretary bringing me coffee, nose twitching slightly and shoulders twitching. Her mimicry of me was unnervingly good now, and I had to ask what she was hoping to do with it. Was it just to fuck with me? Was it a method of putting me on edge? If so, I had to admit to myself that it was working. I did my utmost not to show it.

“The standard? My demands for a resurrection?”

“That depends on who you’re bringing back, and what you’re demanding,” I noted. “And how many. You have quite a lot of mass with you, as you demonstrated with that demon tree.”

“Did you like it?”

“How many people are you capable of bringing back with your current mass?” If she could be negotiated up from the standard one deceased hero... I could sign off on feeding her some pig carcasses to boost her mass if necessary.

“If we’re looking at mass along, somewhere between twenty and thirty,” she said, and I blinked in surprise. “What? Trees are heavy. I’m packing a lot of mass right now.”

“I suppose so. I’m just shocked that you were able to compress it so far down,” I said. “I’m only 160 pounds, and you’ve squeezed 20 times my weight into a body my size?”

She shrugged. “I don’t fully understand how I do it either, but yes. Probably some kind of subliminally controlled pocket dimension, if you believe Doctor H-” she cut herself off, but I was already cheering in my head. “Can you just forget I said that? That’s supposed to be a secret.”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Page,” I said calmly. This could be the biggest breakthrough with Legion in years! A ‘Doctor H’? Why would a woman with Legion’s shapeshifting powers need a doctor? Was it possible that they were unstable on some level? Were her injuries stored away in some fashion, similar to how any injury Zookeeper suffered persisted each time she took that form? It seemed unlikely given that Legion’s brand of shapeshifting was unbounded, but perhaps it was similar to Loki’s illusions - to create anything quickly, he needed to build it up before use and could then call upon it as necessary. Did Legion have a similar limitation for assuming shapes quickly?

Or was I reading too much in a single comment that she might have dropped just to continue screwing with me? Probably. “Not unless you’re willing to bring back a great many people, at least.”

“Ah well. It’s not like they can do anything to me, anyway. This me, that is.” She grinned. “After all, I’m going to be dead soon. A government-sanctioned suicide. And you have no qualms about it at all, do you?”

“This arrangement saves a great many lives, Miss Page. Some of them are lives that you took.” Despite my words, I did in fact have a great many regrets about the arrangement the MLED invariably reached with captured Legions. It was official policy and not my place to go against - not while speaking to a villain, at least, although I definitely planned to bring it up at the next regional meeting - but it didn’t sit right with me. Certainly not when Legion put it like that, using my own mouth and voice - perhaps _that_ was her point. And yes, we asked our agents and heroes to put their lives on the line every day - but we never asked them to kill themselves. They knew that they were at risk but they weren’t _expected_ or _wanted_ to die.

“And since ‘they’ can’t do anything to you, as you say, why don’t you tell me who they are?” I didn’t expect her to tell me, but it was worth a shot.

Legion shook her head. “I’ve said too much already, and I have loyalty. No, it’ll still be just one person.” She smiled a little ruefully. “I don’t have the option to bring back more anyway - I only have the pattern for one.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can only use a pattern once - no making multiple perfect copies of a thing. People are no different. And patterns don’t automatically transfer when we create additional copies of ourselves, so...” she shrugged. “I’ve only got one person with me.”

“Hm.” This was a wrinkled I hadn’t known about, and I would have to add it to her file - assuming it was true, anyway, and not a falsehood to guarantee the person she would resurrect. “I may or may not be able to grant concessions for them, depending on who it is.”

“Ventus,” she told me - a hero who commanded the winds, he had died to a Legion three years ago, if I remembered right. Never a top player in the hero field, but a good man. And he had been a friend of Canaveral’s, who would surely be pleased to have him back.

“And what do you want in return?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing much...”


	58. 2. Scene 32

_Scene 32 - October 26th_  
_Interior MLED Compound, Morning  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Dad and I had been rather surprised when the MLED called and asked the two of us to come in - we couldn’t think of any reason they’d specifically want to talk to us. After all, it had been less than two weeks since my powers manifested, so I still had most of my one-month grace period before registration was mandatory. And while I had had contact with Legion, I had told Canaveral all about it - there was nothing that I knew that the MLED didn’t, at this point.

Still, we couldn’t exactly decline the invitation, so he called off work and I called off my two classes for the day, and we dressed in nice clothes before heading into the Compound.

The receptionist smiled at me as we approached. “Hello again, Mr. Kaufman. And is this your father?”

“Mx. Kaufman,” he corrected. “And yes, I’m their father.” I grinned up at him, pleased to have his support.

The receptionist seemed confused by the correction, but rolled with it. “Are you hear to visit the Journeymen again, Mr - Mx. Kaufman?”

I shook my head. “No, we received an invitation from the director.” I showed him the letter that had arrived by express mail yesterday. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why?”

He examined it with surprise. “None, sorry. But it appears to be in order, so... you’ll be following the green line today, not the orange.” He tapped a few buttons on his keyboard, then continued, “Director Shepard will meet you there.”


	59. 2. Scene 33

_Scene 33 - October 26th  
_ _Interior Cell Block, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“Director Shepard,” my father said as he shook the woman’s hand, only an inch or two taller than me but probably twice my weight in solid muscle. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well, Professor Kaufman.” She turned to me and offered a hand as well. “And Mx. Kaufman too. I’m sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet yet, but as I’m sure you understand I’m unspeakably busy.”

I shook her hand despite the distinct possibility that she might accidentally break me in two - or deliberately. Regardless of what she said, her face and voice were stern, and she certainly didn’t seem happy to meet us. My anxious mind aside, what I _said _was, “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” Dad said, “why did you call us here on such short notice? And to a cell block, no less?” The green line had led us to a metallic door where a uniformed MLED officer had scanned us and patted us down before allowing us in - the PA4 that I wore beneath my clothes most days had required him to consult with the Director, who had been waiting on the other side of the door. And now we were standing at the entrance to a long row of incredibly secure cells, most of which - but not all - were empty.

The director frowned. “Nothing good, I’m afraid.” She seemed to catch the look of fear in my eyes, because she added, “not something that either of you two have done, but... well, do either of you know much about the villain known as Legion?”

“I know a decent amount - I’m sure you know that, of course.”

“I know what’s in the papers,” Dad said. “Shapeshifter who can duplicate and heal people, or something along those lines.”

“Close enough,” the director agreed. “She’s agreed to resurrect a deceased hero, in return for a concession. A private conversation with the Kaufman family. First you,” she nodded to me, “and then your father.”

We absorbed this for a moment. “...why?”

“She has refused to say. We absolutely guarantee your safety, however. Her powers are being suppressed and there will be a force field in between you and her at all times. If you agree to speak with her, you will be saving a man’s life.”

“...I thought power suppression wasn’t real,” I said.

“Not as such,” Director Shepard admitted, “but many powers are inhibited in certain environments or by certain stimuli. Someone who can control water has little power in a desert, for instance. In Legion’s case, it appears that cold temperatures slow the speed of her shapeshifting, and her cell is therefore being kept at 20 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Dad sighed. “Quinn first?”

“She specifically requested your child first,” Shepard confirmed. “Whatever information has led her to seek this conversation did not include your transition, and she specified you using your deadname,” the director warned me, and I tensed, “but after being informed of your name and pronouns she immediately corrected herself and has not slipped up as far as I am aware. I wished to warn you that she knows it, however.”

“...thank you.” I managed after a moment. It wasn’t the director’s fault that Legion apparently knew my birth name - in fact, it seemed like the director had been the one to correct the villain.

My father was looking at the floor. “Lift your chin and set your shoulders, / Plant your feet and take a brace,”[1] he murmured, then looked up at us. “I’m willing to do it if Quinn is.”

I shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not? It’s not the first time I’ve talked with her.” Inside my heart was pounding, because that conversation had been _terrifying_, but I recognized the lines Dad had just quoted - he always quoted them when he was trying to be brave. And if Dad was going to face down the dangerous supervillain _without_ powers, how could I do less _with_ them?

The director smiled thinly. “Thank you.”

[1] _See It Through_, Edgar Guest, 1916


	60. 2. Scene 34

_Scene 34 - October 26th  
_ _Interior Cell Block, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I was directed to Legion’s cell, where I sat on one side of a table which seemed to pass through a forcefield, allowing her to sit on the other side. She was currently in the shape of the director, which I couldn’t help but comment on. “I thought you couldn’t copy people without absorbing them.”

She shrugged in slow-motion. “Perfectly? To the point of fooling DNA scans and fingerprinting? Yes, I need to absorb them. But I can fool the eye with just a visual reference. And as for vocal mannerisms and body language, that’s just practice.” Her body suddenly morphed and I was looking at Canaveral. “Would you prefer to speak to a hero? Whatever makes you comfortable, Quinn.”

I frowned at her. “I think I’d rather speak to you in your real form. If you even remember what it is.”

She chuckled - it was exactly the same as the chuckles I had heard from the actual Canaveral. “A brave one, aren’t you?”

“I try.” I try very, very hard.

“Well that’s not an option, I’m afraid. My real form is reserved for the original me. But if you’d rather, I can make something completely new for you.”

“Please.”

She changed again, returning to a suit much like the director’s but with a more curvaceous figure beneath it. Her face became sharp, her ears slightly pointed, and her hair curled up around her ears. Every part of her took on a purplish tint - so deep it was nearly black for the suit, so pale it was nearly white for the hair, and every shade in between. Even her skin had a lavender cast to it. “Better?”

“Good enough,” I said. “A fan of purple, I see.” She shrugged. “So why do you want to talk to me and dad?”

“I have a message for you.”

“From who?”

“Laura Kaufman - your mother.”

I glared. “Don’t talk about my mother, Legion.”

She held up her hands placating. “I don’t mean to poke at old wounds, but I must deliver this message. I promised her, and I owe her everything. I know it sounds hard to believe, but-”

“What the _hell_ do you know about my mother?” I snapped. “How could you know anything! _I_ barely know anything! She’s been gone for 15 years!”

“From you, perhaps,” she said quietly. “I only lost her two years ago.”

“...what are you saying.”

“Your mother didn’t die, 15 years ago.”

“You expect me to believe she just _left_?” I had to laugh at the very notion. “That’s ridiculous. She would never do that to me - to dad.”

Legion shook her head. “It wasn’t by her choice. Can I give the message?”

“I’m not sure I want to hear anything you have to say anymore,” I said, standing.

Then she opened her mouth and spoke in the voice of my mother - a voice that I could only barely remember hearing, outside of recordings. “Tell Quinn... tell them that I never wanted to leave them,” said my mother. “Tell them how sorry I am. How much I love them. Tell them... tell them that I’ll be watching over them.”

I didn’t respond. How could I?

“I paraphrased a little, I’m afraid,” Legion said, quietly. “She never had a chance to learn your real name, to see who you are. But I’m certain that Laura would have been proud of the person you’re becoming.”


	61. 2. Scene 35

_Scene 35 - October 26th_

_Interior MLED Compound - Continuous_

_Quinn Kaufman_

I left the cell in a bit of a daze. I found it hard to believe that Legion had known my mother, but the voice... how else would they have heard it? It wasn’t as though she was a public figure. And yet...

My father was ushered into the cell after me, giving me a concerned look as we passed. Legion probably had a similar message for him.

The director, waiting back at the entrance, blinked briefly when I returned. “You seem a little stunned,” she said. “Was it that bad?”

“It was... not bad, exactly,” I admitted. “Surprising, certainly.” I rubbed at my brow, still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. “Were you listening?”

Shepard shook her head. “No. Legion asked for a private meeting, and so the mics were muted. We had visual, to make sure that you were in no danger, but...”

“She said that she had a message from my mom,” I said, the words spilling out without conscious thought. “She said that she _knew my mom_, that she hadn’t died all those years ago... she told me that mom loved me, and would have been proud of me.” I hugged myself as I continued, “Dad’s told me that before, of course, but... I’ve never heard it _in her voice_.” My own voice nearly broke, tears welling at the corners of my eyes. “And... and she was _alive_. For _13 years_ she was alive, when we thought she was dead. And... and she’s still dead. Only two years ago, she died...”

“Did Legion give any details?” Director Shepard asked.

I shook my head. “No... maybe I should have asked, but I just... I couldn’t stay in there. I don’t know why.”

“It’s hard, to face a revelation like that. To hear someone’s last words. Especially when you’re not expecting it.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “She may have been-” the director started, then stopped and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, tell me.”

She sighed. “I was going to say that Legion may have been lying, to try to manipulate you.”

I laughed, my voice still raw. “What would be the point? I’m no one.”

“You are someone,” the director said. “You’re Quinn Kaufman.”

“And who the fuck is that, huh? I’ve got nothing to offer anyone.” I wiped away a tear. “Even my own mom didn’t want to stay. Shows how much she loved me.”

Again, Shepard seemed to want to say something but didn’t. She just shook her head again, then said. “Quinn, I can’t speak for your mother, and I’ve only met you today. But from everything I’ve seen and heard of you, you’re an exemplary young person - you’re kind, clever, and brave. Everything we look for in a hero. It’s your choice what you want to do with your powers - the MLED can’t force you to use them. But if you want to join the Journeymen, we would love to have you.”


	62. 2. Scene 36

_Scene 36 - October 26th  
_ _Interior Cell Block, Afternoon  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

“Alright, Legion,” I said as I entered her cell and leaned against the wall, eying her through the force field. “You’ve had your chat with the Kaufmans.” And I couldn’t help but wonder what she had said - wanting to talk with the two of them was no doubt why she had been at Quinn’s house the night she was first sighted. But I hadn’t been privy to the contents of the conversations, and Susan had declined to tell me. They were of a personal nature, and if Quinn or David decided to tell me on their own then that was one thing, but she wouldn’t do it herself. As a result of my curiosity, I was a little annoyed when I said, “Now give me my best friend back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s still your friend? It’s been years, after all.”

“Only three,” I said, frowning at the villain. “That’s not so long, really.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to see you anymore?”

“What are you saying, Legion? Why wouldn’t he want to see me?”

“Oh, I thought you knew why I had to take him,” Legion said. “I suppose I should warn you. A moment...” She raised a hand and produced a small clicker from nowhere. It clicked, and the commlink in my ear suddenly went dead. Sparks popped from the cameras in the corners of the cell - they had clearly been ruined as well. The force field that separated us shut down too - what the hell _was_ that thing?

I crouched into a fighting stance, ready for an escape attempt - this was, after all, why I was here to supervise her transformation - and tested the door behind me experimentally. If it was an escape, the tech she had managed to sneak in would probably have popped its lock, but I discovered that it was stuck closed. On the other side of the door I could hear a commotion - the cameras’ destruction had obviously been noticed, and agents were already trying to get into the cell to give me back up.

Legion grinned, suddenly moving at full speed rather than the slow pace she had apparently only been pretending was force on her. “Snuck it in by hiding it inside a bone. Your scanners can’t see through my bones when I’m this dense - I could have _anything_ in here.” She laughed. “In this case, however, you have nothing to fear. Instead, I think you have a decision to make. You see, the reason I took Ventus was that he had discovered something which I think you’ll find unfortunate.”

My eyes narrowed. What could Will have discovered that... “Are you saying he knew about Ambrosia?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“Got it in one,” she said approvingly. “Yes, Ventus discovered the company after capturing a client back in Vegas.” The two of us had both grown up in Las Vegas, and spent the first two years of our careers as heroes there. Then I had been transferred to New Venice to lead the team after the previous team leader, the Warden, retired - Ventus, meanwhile, had remained. “At first he thought we only sold powers to villains, but after his investigation was quashed by Nanoblade, he began to realize the truth.”

“Wait, hold on. Are you saying that _Nanoblade_ got his powers from you?” Nanoblade was one of the biggest heroes out there, and had been a mentor to Ventus and I both.

“Oh yes. You didn’t think we only sold magic, did you? We wouldn’t get very far like that - Middleman can’t duplicate powers, after all. But many cosmic powers can be granted repeatedly.”

“I... I never really thought about it, beyond myself,” I quietly admitted. “I tried not to think about it that much.”

She nodded. “Probably for the best. The point, however, is that Ventus didn’t stop his investigation, he just had to do it in secret. He was good at it, too, and turned up a great deal of information. Including that _you_ purchased your powers from us, Abraham Armstrong.” Legion shrugged. “So, the company sent me to deal with him. I can bring him back, of course, but if he still plans to go public with all of this another me will just take him out again.”

“And what the hell do you want _me_ to do about this?” I asked.

“There are two possibilities here,” she said. “Either you can convince him to remain quiet - you are his best friend, after all - or this ‘escape attempt’ goes badly, and you manage to destroy my brain. Either way, I’ll be gone and your secret will be safe.”

“Why are you putting this decision on _me_,” I growled. “You can’t ask me to choose that! He was my best friend!”

“I ask you to make this decision _because_ you are his best friend,” she countered.

“Will this at least count as my third favor?” I asked without much hope.

Legion shook her head. “Oh no. I don’t owe you anything, whatever that me may have thought. This affects you, and you need to make the choice regardless.”

I glanced at the doorway behind me. It seemed to be taking a while for them to get through... “Can I talk to him before you make the change final?”

She nodded. “Certainly.” The shapeshifter held up her hand again and it began to bulge, shaping itself into a head. A strong jawline, heavily tanned skin, black hair that would have hung down to his shoulders if she had bothered to give him any... he had more stress lines than the last time I had seen him, but when his grass-green eyes opened and locked on mine, I knew that it could be none other than my best friend, William Wordsworth.


	63. 2. Scene 37

_Scene 37 - October 26  
_ _Interior Cell Block, Continuous  
_ _Abraham Armstrong_

It took a moment before I found my voice again, then I said, “Will...”

“Canaveral,” he said, coolly. That was a bad sign - he usually called me Abe or Navi.

“I... I hear that you’ve learned some things,” I tried, “that... that don’t sound very good, from a certain perspective.”

“You could say that,” he agreed, still in that same unaffected, emotionless voice.

“I...” I sighed. “I can’t lie to you, Will. The Ambrosia Company is... it’s not exactly a morally-upright institution.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Legion commented. “Publicly, perhaps, but I think we all know that the face we put on in public isn’t necessarily the truth.”

I glared at her. “You’re not helping,” I snapped. “And why the hell do you work for them, if you know how bad they are?”

She sighed. “Loyalty, I’m afraid. They saved my life.”

“I thought that _I_ saved your life.”

“It’s arguable, and like I said I disagree with the me who helped you.” She shrugged. “Besides, if they had a different enforcer they would probably be even worse than me. At least _I_ don’t kill anyone - anyone other than myself, anyway.”

I stared at her, then pointed at Will’s head where it emerged from her arm.

“Does he look dead to you?” Legion asked. “The man isn’t even dead legally, just missing-in-action.”

“Get to the point,” Will groaned. “Existing as a disembodied head isn’t exactly comfortable, you know.”

“Right.” I shook myself, trying to refocus. “Will, Ambrosia does a lot of bad things, yes, but... they do good, too. I would never have become a hero if not for them.”

“There wouldn’t be so many villains if not for them, either,” he retorted. “Not to mention that the brawn that they distribute throughout the country.”

I glanced at Legion. “I didn’t know they were involved in brawn distribution - is that true?”

“Maybe?” She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not my department. I know there’s some level of involvement but I don’t know the details of it.” There came a loud thud at the door, and I glanced over my shoulder to double check that it was still holding. “Better hurry up,” the villain added.

I sighed. “Look, Will, I’ll be straight with you-”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Since when have you been straight? Especially with me.”

I grinned at him for a moment, then remembered the situation we were in and cleared my throat. “You’re up for resurrection - Legion is willing to bring you back. But only if you agree to keep quiet about Ambrosia.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I can agree to that. I mean, think about what they’ve done!”

“They’ve granted powers to heroes too!” I protested.

“I already said that you and Nanoblade doesn’t make up for all the villains!”

“You think it’s just the two of them?” Legion asked, then laughed. “Oh, Ventus, you have no idea. Canaveral isn’t the only hero to buy his powers - he isn’t even the only one in the New Champions!”

I hadn’t known anyone else in the Champions had gotten their powers from Ambrosia, but decided to think about that later. “And they’ve taken villains off the playing field, too,” I added. “My power was taken away from a Russian villain in order for me to get it.”

“So you’re saying that they can do more than bribe people with the possibility of extra powers, they can also threaten to take them away?” Ventus asked. “That just makes them even scarier.”

“We tried to bribe him to stay quiet first,” Legion told me. “It didn’t work.”

I sighed. “Will, you’re going to _die_ if you don’t stay quiet. And it’ll be permanent this time - no way to come back. I don’t want you gone forever!”

“I’m already dead,” he said, a trace of pain in his eyes - I doubt I could have seen it if I didn’t know the man so well. “I don’t care if Legion thinks she doesn’t kill - this isn’t a life.”

She sighed. “You have the right to your opinion,” the villain said, “but the fact that you have one to express means you’re alive. But... yes, not for long.”

I closed my eyes and tried to come to terms with what I was about to do. Will had been my best friend from childhood. He had been my first crush, my first boyfriend, my first kiss. My first partner - we had been closer than brothers. And now... could I really do this to him?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Will said. “It’s not going to work. You can’t make her bring me back if she doesn’t want to.”

I hadn’t been thinking about that, and the fact that I wasn’t just made me feel worse. Had I really changed so much that Will was wrong about me? “I’m so sorry, Will,” I said, my voice breaking as I tried to hold back tears. “But I don’t have a choice.”

Legion snorted.

“What do you mean, Navi?” Will asked.

I turned away before opening my eyes again - I couldn’t look. “Make the escape attempt, Legion,” I said. “Where’s your brain?”

“I have it in my pelvis right now,” she told me.

I could hear the understanding in Will’s voice as he realized what was about to happen. “Fuck you, Abe,” he said. “Fuck you very...”

Then he was gone, and Legion was lashing out at the walls, the ceiling... making it look like a great battle had occurred. I played my part too, bouncing around her strikes to build up a little sweat to make it realistic. After a few seconds, she broke through the door to the cell, revealing a crowd of agents, several of whom had been attempting to break through themselves. I broke off a leg of the table, launched it through Legion’s midsection, and she collapsed and took my best friend with her.


	64. 2. Intermission: Scene 1

_Scene 1 - Ten Years Ago  
_ _Interior Hospital Room, Early Afternoon  
_ _Penelope Page_

“I’m sorry, Mr. Page, but the results are positive. Your daughter has cancer.”

I glared up at the doctor from the bed where I lay. “I’m right here, you know,” I said, icily.

Dad spared me a quick glance and squeezed my hand gently, trying to get me to calm down. “Is it serious, doctor?”

“All cancer is serious,” she told him. “But I think that her prognosis looks good. We’ll start with surgery, then move to chemo. It will take time, but Penny is young. She has time.”

“Stop ignoring me, bitch,” I growled. “I’m 15, not five!”

The doctor finally looked at _me_, giving me a kind, patient smile. “You’re going to be fine, honey,” she lied. “They make really excellent wigs these days.” Then she turned right back to my dad, and said, “I’m afraid I have to get to another patient, but don’t hesitate to call if you need more information. Here’s my card.” She handed it to him, then flounced out.

I snorted. “‘You’re going to be fine,’” I mocked. “I have cancer! I’m not going to be fine!”

Dad stroked the hand that he still held. “Penny, please... try to be optimistic?”

I snorted.


	65. 2. Intermission: Scene 2

_Scene 2 - Eight Years Ago  
_ _Interior Hospital Room, Late Morning  
_ _Penelope Page_

“Penny? Mr. Page?” the doctor - my third in two years - said as he stepped into the room. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“What is it?” I asked, pulling myself upright with a slight wince of pain.

He glanced down at a chart in his hand as though to confirm what he was reading, then said, “I know it sounds crazy, but your cancer appears to have a metagene which has activated in response to your chemotherapy treatments.”

I blinked, then looked up at dad. “Wait, I thought I didn’t have any metagenes?”

“You don’t,” he confirmed. “I had you tested shortly after you were born, then again after the cancer developed. I had this mad hope that you might develop powers that would save you...”

“So how could my cancer have a metagene?” I asked the doctor. “It’s my DNA, right? Just a little messed up?”

“There are two possibilities,” he told me. “Either random mutation created its metagene - it’s incredibly unlikely, yes, but it must have happened in the past with every other metagene - or you _do_ have the same metagene, and it’s simply not one that has been documented yet. Honestly, it’s fascinating either way - there are cases of both flora and fauna with metagenes, but as far as I know this is the first time that a cancer has ever activated a metagene.” He produced a piece of paper and offered it to me. “In fact, I’d love to write a case study on it, if you’ll consent.”

Dad squeezed my fingers - he would support whatever I chose. “No,” I said after a moment. “And in fact, I think I’d like a new doctor, too.”

His face fell, but he nodded in acceptance. “I’ll let Doctor Dorian know.”


	66. 2. Intermission: Scene 3

_Scene 3 - Eight Years Ago  
_ _Interior Hospital Room, Evening  
_ _Penelope Page_

When I was a kid, I suppose my dad thought I would outlive him. No parent expects to outlive their child, after all.

When I was a slightly older kid, I was diagnosed with a vicious kind of cancer that was going to tear through my body if not stopped, and I was certain that I would die.

Fortunately, I responded well to chemotherapy and the tumors began to recede. Once again, outliving my father was a possibility.

Three weeks ago, I was told that my cancer had superpowers, and I was certain that death was imminent. I suppose I took it out on the doctor - but who can blame me for reacting badly? My father was going to have to watch me waste away, and come to terms with outliving me, _again_.

Two days ago, it turned out that we were wrong again.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Page,” the nurse told me sympathetically. “Doctor Dorian is doing everything he can to keep your care covered, but your father’s insurance company isn’t willing to keep paying for it without... well. You may have to look at research options. I know you didn’t want to, but... well, here’s an offer that’s come already.”

Along with a note signed by half the staff of the hospital and a bundle of flowers, she left behind a tablet computer that was already open to a pdf of some company’s offer to treat me, in return for being allowed to conduct research on my supertumor. I read it, struggling to understand the legal jargon without Dad’s help.

As far as I could tell, it seemed to be saying that the Ambrosia Company - which according to Google specialized in metagene research - would provide ‘all necessary care’, including schooling, housing, food, and whatever medical treatment their doctors deemed necessary. In return, I agreed to allow them to test portions of the cancer which had been removed. The most concerning part of it was that it granted power of attorney over me to the company, as I was a minor - that, I assumed, would expire when I turned 18 in a few months.

Assuming I lived that long, anyway.

The contract had a number attached to it, which was noted to be that of the specialist who would be caring for me, a Dr. Kaufman. I tapped it, and the tablet switched over to a video call app. I straightened up a little as it rang, wincing.

Dr. Kaufman, as it turned out, was a slim woman of average height, with long brown hair in a loose ponytail, bright blue eyes, and rather sharp, aristocratic features. “Hello,” she said with a slightly crooked smile. “Well, you’re not Susan or Miles, so I suppose you must be Penelope. Or do you prefer Penny?”

“Penny is fine,” I said with a shrug. “You’re the doctor who’d be treating me, then?”

She somehow managed to bow, despite sitting. “Doctor Laura Kaufman, at your service, and yes, I’ll be the one treating you.” She tilted whatever device she was using for the call so I could see a tall redheaded man sitting in the background of the office space she seemed to be in, facing away from the camera. Like Kaufman, he was wearing a lab coat. He apparently didn’t take as good care of it though, as hers was pristine while his had reddish stains. “Dr. Hartland back there will be doing the actual research while I stick to treatment.”

“Is he more of a researcher where you’re a caregiver, then?”

Kaufman shrugged. “We have different specialties, mostly. He’s probably one of the world’s top experts on metagenes, and he’s eager to examine the one your tumor has developed - any newly discovered metagene is interesting to him. My specialty as a researcher was neurology and the structure of the brain, and I usually take the lead when we’re doing research on large-scale biology, where he leads on microbiology.”

“How are you on treatment?” I demanded. “Research is whatever, but I’m a real person, and I don’t want to be treated as a science dummy.”

“...a science dummy?”

“Like a crash test dummy, but for science.”

Kaufman seemed to be struggling to hold back a smile. “Penny, crash test dummies _are_ for science.”

I shrugged. “You get the point.”

She was still smiling as she said, “Well, I may have been primarily a researcher before Ambrosia got their hands on me, but my horizons have definitely expanded in the seven years that I’ve been here. I have a lot of experience treating patients, for various reasons. And...” She glanced over her shoulder at Hartland, but he was clearly engrossed in whatever he was doing. She dug through a purse and after a moment produced a picture of an adorable kid, maybe six or seven years old, which she held up to the camera. “I’m a mother, if that makes any difference. I’m not some heartless monster only interested in science. That’s Hart’s job,” she joked with that same crooked smile, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at Hartland.


	67. 2. Intermission: Scene 4

_Scene 4 - Six Years Ago  
_ _Ambrosia Co. Laboratory, Morning  
_ _Penelope Page_

“Miles?” I asked, confused. “Where’s Laura?” Normally she was the one to check up on me every morning, but today it was Miles Mercer, a twenty-something guy who I knew was friends with Laura despite the age gap - she was old enough to be my mother, if perhaps not his. I had never been clear on what exactly he did for Ambrosia, but whatever it was he was one of the higher-ups, and the two of us had never really interacted.

“She-” he started, then paused, looking guilty. He ran a hand through his hair, seeming nervous, and muttered something under his breath in Japanese, then rallied. “She’s not available right now, I’m afraid.”

“What happened?” I straightened up in my bed, without pain for once. Laura did good work. “Is she alright?”

He sat in the chair she usually used beside my bed. “Listen, kid-”

“Penny. And I’m not a kid.”

“Penny, then. Ambrosia is a pretty big deal, these days. There are a lot of people out there who aren’t fond of us, and Laura is... pretty important to Ambrosia’s success. A lot of our earlier breakthroughs were her, and...” He trailed off.

“Are you saying she’s been _assassinated?_” I cried, horrified.

Miles winced. “No no, not that,” he assured me. “She was just kidnapped, that’s all. Yeah, kidnapped. That’s it,” he said again, sounding unsure. “She’s back already anyway, this new hero called Canaveral went and got her for us.”

“...so why is she not visiting?”

“She was injured in the, uh. The kidnapper hurt her. But she’s fine!” he promised. “She’ll be back on her regular schedule soon. She just needs a little recuperation time. She’ll be fine.”

“She’d better be,” I warned him.


	68. 2. Intermission: Scene 5

_Scene 5 - Five Years Ago_  
_Interior Surgery Theater, Evening  
_ _Laura Kaufman_

I’ve fucked up a lot, in my life.

I had a husband and a baby that I loved more than anything in the world. But they’re lost to me now, probably forever. I haven’t seen them in ten years and it seems increasingly unlikely that I’ll ever see either of them again.

I’ve spent those ten years working for a company that literally kidnapped me, and which still holds me captive. I’ve tried to escape - once I even made it far enough that one of Ambrosia’s pet heroes had to come grab me - but still, I’m here in this fucking building, and I have no choice but to work for _Susan fucking Thornhill_.

One of the few good things in my life has been the presence of Penelope Page. She was clever and quick and funny, and I consistently found her a bright spot in my otherwise dreary days. She did her best not to let the cancer that seemed impossible to excise from her get her down, and I, inspired by her, did my best to do the same with my own life. I did my best by her, treated her in many ways like she had been my own child.

And now she was soon to be lost to me, perhaps forever.

The metacancer that Hart had studied had, it turned out, developed a power that allowed it to take control of nearby organic cells. It allowed it to spread incomprehensibly quickly, and meant that Penny required daily treatment. It meant that even when we thought we had removed all the cancerous cells, others would transform themself into new tumors.

His research had yielded results, to be sure - Hart had developed a treatment based on those cells and their transformation which brought skin cells under the conscious command of the person in question, allowing for a low level of shapeshifting - instantly tanning or lightening your skin, fixing scars and other blemishes - and he had high hopes of extending this transformative treatment to other organs as well.

The problem was that he had allowed the cancer to spread to far more of Penny’s body that I could condone, seeking to extend the transformative treatment by observing the metacancer’s effects on other parts of the body.

And now she was dying.

Penny was only 20 years old, she was too young to have to face this. She was facing it bravely, to be sure - she had been brave since she was 15 - but she shouldn’t have to. Not when we should be able to fix it.

Years ago, when I was first brought to Ambrosia, Hartland and I had been working off of my previous attempts to replicate cosmic power activators. Our result, if Thornhill had allowed us to publish it, would have lent credence to the theory that cosmic powers were simply unidentified metagenes that had been activated by the technology in question. We had created the PA5, which used psychic waves to force the brain to activate any and all metagenes a person possessed.

It was risky, of course - if a person had multiple metagenes, as many people did, the result of all of them activating simultaneously could be incredibly dangerous. But if we activated the metagene that Penny was believed to have, perhaps she could take control of the _cancer__’s_ cells instead of the other way around.

It was a long shot - metagenes rarely activated in the same way twice, even among people who had the exact same gene and the same activation scenario. Twin studies had shown that for decades, and I had seen in confirmed by Hartland’s genetic therapy experiments, copying people’s metagenes to others for profit.

But it was the only chance Penny had, at this point. I had to try.


	69. Act 3: Soft Starshine at Night - Scene 1

_ ** Act 2 ** _

**_Soft Starshine at_ Night**

_I am the soft star-shine at night._

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

_Scene 1 - October 26th_  
_Exterior City - Late Morning  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I left the Compound with my father, still feeling stunned. He, I assumed, had received a similar message, as he wore approximately the same expression.

We reached his car where it was parked a ways away after a few minutes of walking, and he began unlocking it, but then stopped. “You know what?” he said to me. “We’ve got nothing going on for the rest of the day. Lets go get lunch somewhere. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sure,” I said agreeably. “Wherever you’re in the mood for is fine.” I didn’t feel as though I had the capacity to make a choice about that myself - I had been flattened by Legion’s message.

We continued walking, still in silence and more aimless than when we had been returning to Dad’s car. He didn’t seem to know exactly what he was looking for, just keeping an eye out as we roamed the downtown area.

Eventually, we ended up at a stir fry place. We ordered something simple, watched in increasing hunger as a chef cooked it in front of us, and then, finally, my dad seemed ready to talk.


	70. 3. Scene 2

_Scene 2 - October 26th  
_ _Interior Restaurant - Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“So,” he said as we sat with our finished dishes, “I’m guessing that she had a message for you from Laura?”

I nodded. “Not much of one. Just that she didn’t want to leave, and that she was sorry. For all that’s worth,” I said, bitterly.

He sighed. “I was told much the same thing. Legion didn’t want to elaborate on what had actually happened - apparently Laura had been like a mother to her, over the years they spent together, and speaking of it is painful. But I wish...”

“That we knew why,” He nodded. “We may never know, unfortunately. Legion was the only lead, and this her is going to be gone before long.”

We ate. Slowly, still digesting the revelation we had been given, we ate.

“One great truth in life I've found, / While journeying to the West-” Dad began a few minutes later. “The only folks who really wound / Are those we love the best.”

I raised my eyebrow. “More quotes, dad?”

“Ella Wheeler Wilcox,” he said. “The people whose actions hurt us the most are the ones who we care about.”

“I understand the quote, I’m just not sure of the relevance.”

“We’re hurting right now. We just learned something painful - that Laura didn’t die all those years ago, like we thought, but simply... left. Somehow, for some reason. And we may never know why, because she is, after all, dead.”

“Great recap, but...”

Dad raised a finger, and I trailed off to let him continue. “We’re hurting,” he said, “because we loved her. And she loved us, too. But perhaps we can take our comfort from that - even years after the last time we saw each other, her last thoughts were of the two of us.”

I turned this over in my head for a few minutes as we continued the meal. Something about his proposal didn’t feel right, at least not for me, and I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was that... I barely remembered my mother. I hadn’t heard her voice outside of recordings until today. I had seen her in pictures, but... I barely knew anything about the woman, really. Dad spoke of her so rarely, that...

Legion’s message had been a painful shock to me, yes. But, I was starting to realize, not for the same reason if was for my father. It was shocking and hurtful because it was forcing me to examine my feelings for my long-gone mother, in a way I hadn’t really ever done before.

I had admired her, the little I knew about her. Laura Kaufman had been a neurologist, a research doctor. She had worked in metahuman medicine, just like I wanted to. It had, in fact, probably been an influence on me - perhaps I had wanted to feel connected to her.

But the truth was, I didn’t - not as much as perhaps I should. Legion’s message was a long-gone woman seeking connection to a child that had never known her, but that connection wasn’t there. Perhaps a few years ago, yes, back in those uncertain years when I had been unsure of who I was or who I would be, when I was struggling with my gender and sexuality and finding my footing. Now, however, I knew who I was - not where I was going, admittedly, but I knew the person I was at this moment.

I was the child of David Kaufman. Laura Kaufman was a woman I had never known. It was unfortunate that it could never change, yes, but it was what it was.

“I’m no good at poetry,” I eventually said to my father, “but I think there’s one for this. And I’m sorry, but... it’s Edgar Guest, I think? Something about what makes a family?”

He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “The Stick-Together Families?”

“That sounds right.”

“The stick-together families are happier by far / Than the brothers and the sisters who take separate highways are. / The gladdest people living are the wholesome folks who make / A circle at the fireside that no power but death can break,” he quoted. “Is that the one?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure of the relevance.”

“It’s...” I sighed. “I’m sorry to say it, but... you, me, and mom haven’t been a stick-together family.”

“No,” he said quietly. “We haven’t.”

“And maybe it wasn’t by choice, but... no one can change the past. And you and me, dad?” I reached across the table to take his hand, and gave it a squeeze. “The two of us _have_ been a stick-together family. We’ve gotten on just fine without her.”

He didn't say anything, just staring at the table.

“I never really knew mom,” I said, apologetically. “I know you loved her, but... I’m not feeling hurt in the same way you are. I’m feeling... more that I lost the idea of her, I guess. And you...”

“I feel like I got her back only to lose her again moments later,” he said, and I squeezed his hand again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m glad you did. I’ve always raised you to be honest with me. Thank you for sharing. But...” he sighed. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Okay,” I said agreeably. “I wouldn’t mind not thinking about this myself.”


	71. 3. Scene 3

_Scene 3 - October 26th  
_ _Exterior City - Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

It took us a few minutes to find a new conversation topic - long enough to pay for lunch and then make it back to the car. As we headed home, though, Dad asked, “Do you have any better idea about whether or not you’re going to join the Journeymen?”

I groaned. “No, I’m afraid not. I like the people, but...”

“Is this your anxiety again?” he asked. “We’ve been over this, right?”

“You _know_ it’s not that simple, dad.”

“Sorry.”

“But no, it’s not just anxiety and inferiority,” I said. “It’s a bunch of things.”

“Talk to me,” he requested. “What else is going through your head?”

“Well, number one is moving cities,” I told him. “I was hanging out with the Journeymen a couple days ago, and it’s something that Simone mentioned - when you join an MLED training team like the Journeymen, you don’t have to move. Well,” I amended myself, “not unless you moved to get to a city with a compound. But in general, you don’t have to move. When you graduate, however...”

“You get moved to a different city?”

I shrugged. “Potentially, yes. They move heroes around to keep up with different situations, to give people experience working with different groups... some people end up in one city for years at a time, usually team leaders like Canaveral, but its rarely their home city.”

“I remember that he wasn’t always working out of New Venice,” Dad commented. “He was in... Los Angelos? Is that right?”

“Vegas, but yeah. He moved here four years ago and was put in charge of the New Champions.”

“Why is it the New Champions, anyway? Who were the original Champions?”

“They were the first hero team in New Venice,” I said, thinking back to my Metahuman History class. “Back in the early 20th century, before the DMO was set up to sponsor heroes. They split up a little before World War II, probably because they had sympathies for different sides of the war - one of them, Dr. Hart, actually worked for the Nazis. But that’s off topic,” I scolded.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “You were talking about maybe leaving New Venice?”

“Right,” I said. “The MLED moves heroes around a lot, so...” I shrugged.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s not something I had considered before. And that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

“I kind of feel like people are pushing me to be a hero. Or use my powers at least,”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “It’s no different than when you were pushing me to be a doctor.” He made a face, and I laughed. “But I need to untangle my feelings, you know? Figure out if I actually want to be a hero or if it’s just that everyone seems to think I should be.”

“I can see why you’re having trouble making up your mind,” he commented.

“Oh, there’s more.” Dad groaned, and I laughed again. “I think I’ve brought it up before, but it feels kind of like throwing away a career I’ve made a couple years of headway on for another career that will take years to master. It’s a big change, and not a ton of my current skills will carry over.”

“That’s true,” Dad admitted. “First aid, I suppose, but heroes are mostly able to leave that to MLED agents and paramedics, and focus on threats.”

“Exactly. There’s a lot to consider.” We turned into our driveway as I continued, “And hell, I don’t even really know what it would be like! I got the impression that the one night I’ve spent working with Canaveral wasn’t a typical drug bust. And while I’ve spent time with my prospective co-workers, that’s not the same as trying to job.”

“You should ask if they take interns,” Dad suggested.

I laughed. “Oh, _everyone_ takes interns! The question is, do those interns actually learn anything, or just fetch coffee?”

“Hey, you can learn a lot fetching coffee.”

“Like what?”

“How to carry hot liquid without burning yourself, for one.”

“True, true. How to run without spilling anything.”

“How to find a good local coffeeshop.”

“How to hide a body.”

“Hide a body?”

“In the coffee beans, obviously.” Dad broke down and laughed, and I cheered in victory as I unlocked the door to our house.


	72. 3. Scene 4

_Scene 4 - October 28th  
_ _Interior Coulton Library - Early Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

A few days later, I was at the library doing some research for this week’s Metahuman History course. We were each assigned to pick one figure from early metahuman history and write a paper about their lives and impacts on today’s society - I had chosen Aaron Atwick. I was skimming through _Atwick__’s Argument,_ a biography of the man which alternated between chapters telling about his life and chapters relating that portion of his life to parts of his most famous theory, when he had proved that 20% of metahumans used magic.

It was the kind of book I would love to read for pleasure, but as a source for a research paper, I had to admit that it left something to be desired. The biography chapters were too fictionalized to be used as sources, while the science portions were too split up. Still, I was resolved to at least finish skimming, and intended to check it out to read properly later.

After a few more minutes, I set it aside and turned to the next book I had pulled from the shelves, _Scientific Sorcery_, another biography of Atwick which was ought to be less fictionalized. Before I could open it, though, a familiar figure sat across from me.

“Quinn!” said my friend Devon Durandel brightly, setting down a thick sheaf of papers. “It’s nice to run into you. How are you doing?”

I smiled at them. “I’m doing...” I trailed off, then shook my head. “No, I shouldn’t lie. I’m at a real turning point here, Devon, and I don’t know what to do. Everything feels like it’s up in the air, and I don’t know what to do.” I gestured to my own stack of books. “I’ve been throwing myself into schoolwork to try and avoid thinking about it, but it hasn’t helped much.”

They nodded. “I know how that is. I did something similar when I was starting to come to grips with being nonbinary - I thought if I kept myself busy those thoughts would go away, but...”

“...but they keep breaking in,” I agreed. “It’s a real pain.”

“Sure is,” they said, then took the first paper off of their stack. “Well, I’d be happy to try and give you advice if you’d like. If you’d prefer silence, I need to read these papers.”

“Advice would be nice, but... maybe in a little bit,” I said. I needed to figure out exactly how much I was going to tell them. “Let’s try distracting me at least once more. What papers do you have there?”

“I’m doing research for a patient with a particularly stubborn type of Alzheimers,” they explained. “I can’t give you identifiable details, obviously.”

“Of course.”

“That said, I can tell you it’s a tricky situation. It’s not any of the most common types of the disease - the hospital’s magical healer can treat those just fine, if slowly. It’s some kind of odd variant that hasn’t been seen before.”

“Already troublesome,” I commented. “Do you have any idea why?”

“Some,” they said. “The patient in question apparently has decades of exposure to magical artifacts, which may have affected their genetics or even caused them to build up a resistance to magic.”

“Have you tried contacting Arthur Peregrine?” I asked. “Greatest magician _and_ greatest healer in the world, he might have some ideas.”

“That insight was the _result_ of contacting Peregrine,” Devon informed me. “I’ve been treating this patient for three years, and sent a message to him about a year and a half ago. He only just got back to me, along with suggestions for studies I should look into that might help me untangle the magical mess.” They patted the stack of papers. “Therefore...”

“I assume the patient can’t afford Peregrine Hospital?”

They shook their head. “No. There’s an anonymous donor who’s paying for their stay at NV General, but their pockets don’t run nearly that deep - or they’re not willing to, for an Alzheimer’s patient who still has at least a few years longer. I’m told the family is trying to raise money for it, but...”

I nodded. “Not an option right now. So this magical mess is keeping the magical healers from being able to treat it?”

“It’s keeping them from diagnosing it properly, too. So we’re stuck with conventional methods, which have never been all that successful for Alzheimer’s, let alone this weird variety.”

“That sucks,” I commiserated. “I hope you can find an answer for this guy.”

“So do I.”

We fell silent, each returning to our reading.


	73. 3. Scene 5

_Scene 5 - October 28th_

_Interior Coulton Library, Afternoon_

_Quinn Kaufman_

It was some time later that I finally worked up the nerve to ask Devon for help. “It’s a job thing,” I said out of the blue, and they glanced up at me.

“This is your turning point?” they asked.

I nodded. “It’s... alright, hypothetical situation.”

Devon set the paper they had been reading aside. “Is this one of those hypothetical situations where it’s actually you?”

“It might be,” I hedged, probably unconvincingly. “Hypothetically.”

They nodded. “Hypothetically. Alright, go on.”

“Hypothetically, I’ve recently discovered a unique skill,” I began. “A talent that qualifies me for a job that I didn’t think I could do, before, and therefore never looked into.”

“Is this a job that you’d like to do? Hypothetically?” they added with a definite smirk.

“Hypothetically, it may have been my dream when I was a kid,” I admitted. “But childhood dreams aren’t based on knowing what it’s actually like, you know?”

“I do,” they admitted. “Are you having second thoughts about wanting it, now that it’s actually possible?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s more that...” I drummed my fingers on the table. “It’s a really big commitment,” I finally said. “Hypothetically, it could eat up my entire life. It certainly wouldn’t let me become a doctor as well. Which makes all of the time I’ve spent studying for it feel like a waste.”

“Have you enjoyed your studies?”

“Well, yeah. Most of the time.”

“Not a waste, then.”

“Fair enough.”

“What else?” they asked.

“Well... I suppose one of the big things is that the job might require me to move to another city,” I told them. “I like New Venice, I don’t want to leave. And besides... my dad is here. All my friends, too, those few that I have.”

“Is this one of those jobs that’s very lucrative? You could potentially bring him with you.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not.” Then I paused - heroes had merchandise, after all, and while part of it went to the government and part of it went to charity, I was sure that part of it went to the hero as well. The most popular of heroes - Aegis, for example - no doubt made a tidy income from those royalties combined with the MLED salary. But it wasn’t as though I would ever be one of those hyper-popular figures. “Probably not, anyway,” I corrected myself.

“Well, it’s not the end of the world if you end up moving,” Devon told me. “I’ve done it myself - I’m lucky to have gotten to stay at NV General after my residency, but I’m not originally from New Venice. You’re a good kid, you’ll make new friends. And hey,” they added, “you don’t have to lose contact with the friends you have here. You’re not going to lose my number just because you moved. Your dad isn’t going to forget you just because you don’t live with him anymore.”

“You’re right,” I admitted, “it’s just a big decision, you know? It’s a completely different direction for my life than what I had planned up until now.”

“It sounds like it,” Devon agreed. “That kind of decision shouldn’t be made lightly. How long do you have to decide?”

I was still in my one month grace period, having only gotten my powers two weeks ago, so... “I have another two weeks before I really need to make a decision,” I said. “After that I think I could still take the job, but it would probably be a little more complicated to do so.” Director Shepard had told me personally that she wanted to have me as a hero, after all, and I knew that there were metahumans who had retired from heroing into the private sector, or vice versa. I had to assume that there was paperwork involved, though.

“Then take your time,” they advised. “Don’t rush into it. Talk to people you trust, get their view on things. Talk to people who’re already in this job, if you can, see what they think. Talk to your dad.”

“He’s all for it. You know him - he believes in me 100 percent, even if I don’t.”

“I guess I should have expected that. David is a great guy and a good father.”

“Yeah.”

Devon seemed to be hesitating for a moment, then asked, “Speaking of your dad, has he told you how his health is recently? I worry about the guy.”

“Not really. He was in the hospital again recently, but he was out again before long. We don’t tend to talk details about it - he doesn’t like talking about it, I don’t think.” Neither did I, really.

“I can understand that, I guess,” they admitted, “but still. Ask him what’s up. For now though, let’s talk about something a little lighter than intractable Alzheimer’s or your father’s health or a hypothetical job as a superhero -”

“Did I say superhero?”

“Hypothetically, I might be making an assumption,” they said, giving me a wink, “but am I wrong?”

“You are not,” I admitted. “Hypothetically.”

“So yeah, let’s turn to a lighter subject. What are you doing for Halloween this year?”


	74. 3. Scene 6

_Scene 6 - October 28th  
_ _Interior Coulton Library - Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I blinked. “Fuck, I completely forgot! I’ve been so wrapped up in this new thing that I haven’t even thought about it!” I cupped my face in my hands and groaned. “God, what can I even put together in just three days?”

“You know you can just buy a costume, right?” Devon asked.

I peeled off a hand to give them a look. “_You_ can just buy a costume. _I_ have a reputation.” It wasn’t one I had asked for, admittedly, but at this point it would disappoint people if I didn’t live up to it.

“...I think I’m missing something.”

“One of the fraternities at UNV hosts this big costume party every year on Halloween,” I explained. “They rent out a nice big space and invite everyone in the college - it’s both surprisingly accepting and surprisingly responsible, for a frat party. They check drinking ages, designated drivers get free drinks, the frat bros themselves are constantly roaming, making sure no one is being harassed or dangerously drunk.”

“Sounds like a nice party.”

“It is. And I’ve won the costume contest for the last three years running,” I said proudly. “So I can’t show up in a store bought costume - it’s got to be something _good_.”

“Hm...” Devon eyed me appraisingly, probably picturing me in various costumes. “What costumes have you won with in the past?”

I raised a finger. “Freshmen year I dressed up as a wizard. I had a robe, flash paper for special effects, and a pretty realistic-looking fake beard.” Another finger. “Sophomore year I made myself up as Han Solo - the tricky part there was the makeup, more than the outfit. And the impression, too, but I managed to get it down. That was when I was starting to have less time, classes kicking into high gear.” A third finger. “And last year I had even less time, but I borrowed a leather jacket, gelled my hair to hell and back, and did an early Elvis.”

“Sounds like your best bet is something that you can do mostly with an impression, then. Can you work one up in three days?”

“For the length of a party, probably. But of who?”

“Well, you’ve got a couple different genres represented so far. The wizard is fantasy, Han is sci-fi, and Elvis is real life. Maybe someone from a romance? How about whatshisface from _Pride and Prejudice_?”

“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “Recognition is important for a contest like this. It’s gotta be something recognizable - people vote for things they know as much as they do for impressive costumes. If I’m up against someone who has a good costume but of someone more recognizable...”

“Fair enough,” Devon admitted. “I don’t know then.”

“I’ll have to keep thinking about it,” I said with a sigh, “and quickly.”


	75. 3. Scene 7

_Scene 7 - October 28th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound - Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I found myself back at the MLED compound shortly afterward, trying to commiserate with the Journeymen and failing - instead of allowing me to complain, they were insistent on seeing me do impressions.

“I had no idea you were such a good actor!” Holly said through her laughter.

“This, uh, this isn’t acting,” I said, still in Jeff Goldblum’s voice and fiddling with my fingers. “At best it’s, uh, it’s improv at best. Learning lines is not, uh, my strong suit.”

“It’s still great,” she insisted. “What else can you do? Han Solo, Elvis, William Shatner, Christopher Walken, Jeff Goldblum...”

“How about Oprah?” asked Hypnos - he still hadn’t revealed his identity, insisting that he wouldn’t share unless I joined.

I paused considering. “I haven’t actually taken the time to work one up properly, you understand...” but they were looking at me expectantly, and I don’t want to disappoint my new friends. So I put my hands together, leaned forward a little, and said, “the thing about Oprah is that she often speaks in a very _low_, very _emphatic _voice, often about how _important_ something is or how _meaningful _it is. And _sometimes_,” I brought my voice higher, adding in a touch more excitement, and point, crying, “she gets excited, and then _you_ get a car, and _you_ get a car, _everybody gets a car!__”_

They both laughed, and Holly clapped. “You’re underselling yourself, Quinn,” she told me after we had calmed a little. “I disguise myself all the time as Loki, I know how hard it is to alter your body language and expressions on the turn of a dime like that.”

“Yeah, it’s really impressive,” Hypnos agreed.

I shrugged. “Well, let’s see one of yours,” I challenged her.

“I don’t have a ton of specific people,” she warned. “It’s mostly archetypes, like street thugs and innocent civilians.” Hypnos gestured for her to get on with it, and she took a deep breath. “Let me just step into character here...”

A shimmer went over her body as she stepped to the side, and suddenly she was a heavily built street thug, bearded and slightly balding. “You know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell outta here,” she warned in a deep voice, pointing over my shoulder. “You don’ wanna know what’s goin’ on.”

“How about an innocent?” I asked.

She straightened and shrunk, turning into a young man in a button-down, sweatervest, and glasses. “I already know everything,” she said in a slightly nasal voice, adjusting her glasses. “There’s a 93% chance that you’re dealing drugs, and an 68% chance that you have a gun - oh.” She swallowed in exaggeration fashion. “Maybe I’ll just go, then.”

I laughed as Hypnos remarked. “That’s mean, shit-talking Vulcan behind his back like that.”

Holly huffed. “I would never shit-talk Vulcan like that!” she protested. “I would shit-talk him like this.”

Her body swelled into something even more muscular than the gangster form, but her clothes remained the same as she said, “I’m Vulcan, and despite being the most muscular man in the city with a jawline that could by mistaken for an anvil, I’m incredibly socially awkward and no one understands how I ever got a boyfriend.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and adjusted the position of her arms, and there was a creaking sound as the sleeves of her button down tore, the massive biceps beneath them popping free. “Oh dear,” she said, Hypnos now laughing so hard he fell off the couch, “I seem to have lost some of my clothing again. I feel quite embarrassed, but at least no one seems to mind -”

“Hey!” came Anima’s voice from the console room. “Don’t make fun.”

“Sorry mom,” Holly called, returning to her normal form - or at least, what I assumed was her normal form - with a shimmer.

“Yeah, sorry,” Hypnos echoed.

I raised an eyebrow. “Anima is your mom?”

She shook her head. “No, we just call her that because she mothers us all the time. It’s sweet, really.”

“If a little overbearing at times.”

“Huh.” I sat on the couch Hypnos wasn’t occupying, and Holly flopped down beside me. Her bare feet ended up in my lap and, after a moment of anxious panic - had she meant to do that? Was this intentional flirting? Was it flirting at all? What should I do? _What should I do?_ \- I took a breath and let my hands gently rest over her feet. She wiggled them slightly and I squeezed instinctively.

“Ooh, that felt nice. Keep going, please?” she asked, and I obliged. I felt like I was getting mixed signals overall, but that one at least was pretty clear.

Hypnos smirked at us, but didn’t say anything.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to do impressions,” I said. “I wanted to get advice on whether I should join the Journeymen or not. And costume ideas, because to be frank, that deadline is a lot sooner.”


	76. 3. Scene 8

_Scene 8 - October 28th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufmann_

“Okay, okay, sorry,” said Holly. “Costume ideas and hero advice. Right.”

“Don’t join,” Hypnos said immediately, and I blinked at him.

“That didn’t seem to take much thought,” I noted.

He shrugged. “I thought about it for a long time - before I joined and after.”

“But you did join,” Holly pointed out. “And you haven’t quit.”

“My circumstance is different than Quinn’s,” he said. “I’m here because it gives me access to training and support for my power. It’s not...” he seemed a little embarrassed as he continued, “completely under my control. When I first got it, four or five years ago, I had no control at all - whenever I fell asleep, I would randomly project somewhere. Anywhere.”

“But you have better control now, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I can do it on command now,” he agreed. “I can control where I project to, as well. But I can’t project only a few of my senses with any consistency - it’s all or nothing, most of the time. And I know it’s possible, because there have been a few times that I was able to send _just _my sight or _just_ my hearing, and even a few times that I was able to divide my senses between the projection and my body. But not consistently.” He sounded kind of angry now. “And I _still_ project without intending to when I sleep, half the time!”

“Sounds frustrating,” I offered.

He nodded, and pulled back his hood to run a hand through his unruly hair. “It is, yeah. It’s gotten better since I joined, thanks to help from the Champions and the trainers the MLED keeps on staff, but... it’s slow going, and I’m not done yet.” He offered a half-smile, although I was pretty sure he was still angry - at himself and his power. “And the college tuition money doesn’t hurt either.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” I said.

“For me, yes. But that’s me. You aren’t in the same place,” he pointed out. “You don’t have any trouble controlling your power - not that you’ve mentioned, at least.” He paused, and I shook my head to confirm that I didn’t. “So you don’t need to training to keep your power under control. And you’re almost done with college, so I assume you don’t need the help to pay for that, either.”

“I sure don’t. Dad’s a professor at UNV, so I get free tuition.”

“All you’d be doing is putting a target on your back by becoming a hero,” Hypnos continued, “and for what?”

“The chance to help people?” Holly suggested.

He shrugged. “Look, heroing is a noble thing. But New Venice has a bunch of heroes, and not all that many villains.”

“There are a bunch of villains,” I protested. “The Crows, the Buff Boys, the Magnificent Maxwell, Motael, Voltage, Overshadow, Underlight, probably others I haven’t heard of... hell, Legion was here not too long ago, and the Mountain King was based here for his whole career!”

“All small-time as villains go,” he insisted. “There aren’t any serial murderers like Violet Mail or Graviton - the closest we get are accidental killers, like Voltage or Underlight. The Crows keep a tight lock on things, the Buff Boys are, lets face it, not much of a threat, and everyone else is on their own.”

“Overshadow and Underlight work together a lot,” corrected Holly.

Hypnos flicked a hand dismissively. “Legion is from out of town, and the Mountain King isn’t known to have ever killed _anyone_. And he’s retired, anyway. Well, probably.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that New Venice doesn’t need another hero,” he said. “You probably wouldn’t do much for the time you were on the Journeymen. And then, after graduating, you would probably be sent somewhere else.”

“That...” I sighed. I realized I had stopped massaging Holly’s foot when she wiggled it again, and I continued. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“Then don’t join,” Hypnos advised.

“Counterpoint,” Holly said. “If you officially turn down the offer, the loopholes we’ve been using to let you visit will close, and we won’t be able to hang out as much. And I don’t want to lose access to these foot massages you’re apparently giving out now!” She grinned at me impishly, wiggling her feet in my grasp again. This time when I let go, she pulled her legs back and shifted to sit on them instead of lying halfway into my lap.

“Very funny. Do you have any serious advice here?”

Her face fell a little. “That _was_ serious, I’m afraid,” she said. “Well, not the foot massage part, as nice as it was. But there really are rules that allow ‘prospective members’ to visit ‘for the purpose of exposing them to the environment’.” Her words literally appeared in the air above her, quotes and all, and I marveled at the mundane utility of her light-bending skill. “It’s only intended to be for a single visit, but we’ve been bending the rules to let you keep coming.”

“Holly is right, I’m sad to say,” Anima’s voice said, and I started a little - I had forgotten that she could hear everything we said from her seat in the console room. “That particular loophole only works if you’re considering joining.”

“Well,” I sighed. “I still haven’t made up my mind. Anything beyond that?”

“One or two things. First up, it’s not guaranteed that you’ll be transferred out. Hypnos is right that it’s a strong possibility because New Venice doesn’t have the craziest villains, but it _is_ a decent-sized city and we need more than a few heroes to keep it all covered. I’ve had to learn about scheduling stuff, but you should ask Canaveral if you really want to get an earful about it.”

“Is he in today?” I asked.

“He and Vulcan are in the New Champion’s wing at the moment,” Anima confirmed - Holly, Hypnos, and I were all in the central, shared space at the moment. “Since you’re over 21, you’re welcome to join them.”

“Do they have good beer?” Hypnos asked. “Please tell me I have something to look forward to if I can’t get my power under control in the next three years.”

“I’ll check,” I promised him.

“What I was _trying _to say,” Holly said, and we glanced back to her, “is that we could use another hero. I’m going to be graduating before long myself, but I know that Starling has been thinking about moving on from the city, so your chances of staying aren’t as bad as you think.”

“He’s leaving? Really?” Hypnos asked. “That’s surprising. He’s been here longer than me - longer than Canaveral!”

“Starling has been lobbying to be placed in charge of a team,” Anima informed us. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he feels he was passed over for leadership of the Champions when Canaveral was placed here.”

“But he hadn’t even taken the leadership courses yet,” Holly said, sounding a little confused, and Anima made a noncommittal noise that I suspected accompanied a shrug.

“You’re taking those, right?” I asked Holly, and she nodded.

“Yeah, I have to as part of being the Journeymen’s leader. They’re okay, I guess.”

“Holly’s an excellent leader,” Hypnos told me. “Her powers lend themself well to both gathering and distributing information and battlefield control, and she has a good head for tactics. We only won the last Champions-Journeymen paintball tournament thanks to her.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” Holly protested - when I glanced at her, though, she showed no signs of blushing. Her eyes darted to meet mine a moment later, and _then_ red spread across her cheeks.

“That was the first thing,” I said. “What about the second thing?”

“What things? Oh right!” She gave me a grin again, her blush fading, and said, “You should become a hero because it’s _fun_. It’s stressful and dangerous and the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Magic is wonderful, yes, but it’s a slow and steady thing - heroing is like a rollercoaster. You never quite know what you’re going to get next.”

“Poetic,” I commented. “But what about costume ideas?”


	77. 3. Scene 9

_Scene 9 - October 28th_

_Interior MLED Compound, Late Afternoon_

_Quinn Kaufmann_

Holly had been an endless font of costume ideas - it wasn’t surprising that she was creative, she had an incredible artistic eye - but none of them had been possible. Most of her ideas would have required far more time than I had, some of them being completely impossible for someone without her illusory abilities. And while she said that she intended to go to the party too - for the first time, in her case - and would be happy to maintain an illusion for me, I had to decline. It just wasn’t the same as making the costume myself, I had explained, and she hadn’t argued.

Hypnos had had a more realistic idea - one that would have me purchasing a generic costume and then making some alterations. It was both reasonable for the time I had and acceptable for my standards. After agreeing to his idea, I took my leave of them and went into the adults’ lounge, where I found Canaveral and Vulcan sipping beers and watching a game of football. Canaveral was half-costumed, his cowl pulled down to reveal his face, and Vulcan didn’t have much of a costume to begin with - he was in a button-down shirt which, at the moment, was left undone enough to show off his collarbones.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, hesitating in the doorway and trying not to blush seeing Vulcan - the man really did have jawline like an anvil, and showing off his collarbones like that just _wasn__’t fair_. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Canaveral paused the game and waved me in anyway. “You’re not interrupting - this is recorded. Just don’t tell us the score and you’re fine.”

“Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to, I don’t watch football.” I entered and, still a little anxious - I had only been in the shared lounge space before - took a seat on the unoccupied couch.

“Care for a beer?” Canaveral - Abraham? - asked.

When I nodded, he began to rise, heading towards a cooler sitting in the small kitchen area. I forestalled him by opening it myself using my telekinesis, and floating a bottle to me. He grinned as I popped off the cap and took a sip.

“I’m a little jealous,” he admitted. “My powers don’t have that kind of mundane utility. Even Vulcan here has a leg up on me - he can keep his beer as cool as he wants.” Then he seemed to have a realization. “You haven’t met Vulcan yet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. He was on console when I first came, I think.”

“Well let me introduce you. Vulcan, this is Quinn, or Newton. They’re a recently-empowered metahuman who hasn’t made their mind up about heroing yet.”

“A pleasure,” Vulcan rumbled. His voice was quiet, soft-spoken, but remarkably deep. It sent a shiver down my spine - seriously, he was too much!

“You turn into metal, right?” I asked. “And control heat?”

He waggled his hand in a ‘sort-of’ motion. “I can absorb and project it, but it’s not complete control. And when I’m not in metal form it’s much more limited - my body won’t let me absorb or project enough heat that I would harm myself, so my limits are lower in human form. There’s also only so much I can have absorbed, and I can theoretically run out of heat, but... well, I do a lot of training to expand my capacity, and usually run about half full so I’m prepared to either absorb or project as much as necessary.”

I nodded. “I’ve got something similar, I think,” I told him. “The costume that activated my powers seems to insulate me from the backlash to an extent, so I can use a lot more force when I’m wearing it. When I’m not, I can’t do any more than I normally can physically - I can just do it at a distance. With the costume, I can use way more force. Messing with my ESP is easier, too.”

“Do you know what your upper limit is, other than the backlash?” Vulcan asked.

“No. I’m sure I have one, but whatever it is, it’s well above what I was willing to test on my own.”

Canaveral nodded. “Smart. It’s better not to test your limits without safety precautions.”


	78. 3. Scene 10

_Scene 10 - October 28th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

“What brings you into the lounge?” Vulcan asked. “We were watching the game, you know.”

“Don’t be rude,” Canaveral scolded, and the younger hero muttered an apology.

I took another sip of my beer, using the brief pause to figure out exactly what to say. “Looking for advice, basically. I’m still trying to decide whether or not I should register as a hero.” I set the bottle down and leaned forward. “Can I ask why you all joined?”

The two heroes locked eyes with each other briefly, then glanced up. “What do you think, Anima?”

“Be honest with them,” advised the heroine’s voice through the speaker system.

Canaveral nodded. “That’s what I was thinking - glad you’re on the same page. I’ll go first.

“Susan - that’s Director Shepard, to you,” he clarified, “would want me to give you the MLED’s party line, which is that if you have superpowers, you’re morally obligated to use them to better the world. You know the one - power, responsibility, yada yada yada. That’s the official stance of the MLED. If anyone asks, that’s what I told you,” he told me in an overly-stern, almost mockingly serious voice, and I nodded with a smile. “At the very least, they’d want me to say that it’s because it’s _the right thing to do_, and I’m just so darn good-hearted.

“The truth, though, is a little different. Not to imply that there isn’t an element of truth in both of those - I do believe that there’s a certain level of obligation inherent in being able to help. If you have money to spare for charity you should donate some of it, if you see someone being hurt you should try to help, that kind of thing. But my personal beliefs,” he explained, “don’t require me to actually go searching for that kind of situation in the way that heroes do. Hell, even if they did, being a hero isn’t the only way to help the world - it’s one that’s available to me as it isn’t to a lot of people, because I have powers and because they’re combat-capable, but being a doctor improves the world just as much, if not more.”

Canaveral sighed. “No, the real reason I became a hero is pretty simple - I wanted to. Every since I was a little kid, I idolized heroes, and I wanted to be one too. So of _course_, when my powers finally came in, I became a hero.

“That’s the only reason you should become a hero, in my opinion,” he said, his voice more serious than I had ever heard it outside of fighting Legion. “It’s a big commitment - outside of the training stage, at least - and you shouldn’t do it just because people want you to, or because you think it’s what society expects from you, or out of some moralistic notion that it’s the most virtuous thing to do with your life. You should only become a hero because you _want_ to.”

“That’s... pretty heavy,” I said quietly. “I admit, I hadn’t really considered the question of whether or not I actually wanted to.” I had barely discovered my powers before people started pushing me towards heroism, and much of my musing had been over whether or not I could or should - far less had been over whether or not it was something _I_ wanted.

“I’m sorry if I was pushing you into it,” Canaveral apologized. “I won’t pretend that _I_ don’t want you to join - I like you, I think that we have a lot in common, and I think it would be great to have you as part of New Venice’s heroic scene. But you shouldn’t worry about what I want for you.”

“Abe is somewhat more self-centered than the carefree image of heroism he maintains might suggest,” Anima observed. “Fortunately, his self-centered desire is to be a socially-oriented, morally upstanding pillar of the community, admired by all and for the best of all possible reasons. I dread to think what he could have become if he wanted something less positive for the world.”

He rolled his eyes while I tried to digest this remarkably cynical view of a hero I had admired for years. “You make me sound like some kind of psychopath,” he complained. “I was just like any other kid! Who didn’t want to be a superhero when they grew up? It’s no different from wanting to be a football player or an actor, and working towards that. We don’t scold them for wanting it because of the prestige, money, whatever, rather than for love of the game or the art. Besides,” he added, “I did _say_ that I do still consider it a moral obligation to help people, and that it really is the right thing to do. It just wasn’t my _primary_ motivation.”

“In any case,” she said, “I think it’s my turn. Unless you want to go next, Vulcan?” He shook his head, and she, apparently, could see this from the console room, because she continued, “Right.

“Mine is a little less philosophical than Abe’s, I suppose. I really did join because of the party line in a lot of ways - to help people. I want to make life better for people, and it really is a responsibility. Do you know my powers?”

I blinked - that seemed like something a non sequitur, and it took me a moment to respond. “Not in a ton of detail. You can animate objects right?”

“That’s part of it, but not the biggest part. Basically, I’m an energy absorber and projector, like Vulcan, only a bit more metaphysical. He deals with heat, but I deal with lifeforce.”

“Is that like the soul? Holly tried to explain that to me, but I’m not sure how much I understood,” I admitted. It had been interesting and I had tried to come off as understanding it all, because I kind of liked her and didn’t want to seem stupid, but it had gone a bit over my head. I didn’t think she had noticed, thankfully.

“Sort of. Magic is insanely complicated, if you hadn’t picked that up.”

“I did get that impression, yeah. It’s interesting, though - I’d love to learn more about it.”

“There are a ton of different... layers to reality, I guess is the way to put it,” Anima explained. “The material plane or the physical world is just one of them. The plane that soul energy lies on is another, and I know Holly thinks it’s the one that’s most important for magic, but it’s really all up for debate.

“Personally, I think it’s like... well, you know how there are four fundamental forces of the universe, each with their own particle that conveys them? Gravity, electromagnetism, strong nuclear force, and weak nuclear force? Plus mass, maybe?”

“Sure.”

“And then spacetime is its own thing entirely but still interacts with the others?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I think magic is a lot like that - there are a _bunch_ of different kinds of metaphysical forces, all of which interact with each other and with the material plane,” she told me. “Holly is a brilliant girl, but I think she’s getting a bit ahead of herself - she’s looking at the energy of the soul as a grand unifying theory of magic, or something along the lines of that. A single connection between the material plane and the metaphysical planes, that can explain it all, or at least a lot of it. But I’m pretty sure it’s a lot more complicated.”

“I did get the impression it might be,” I agreed. “She made brief mention of illusions being connected to a psychic plane and the impression of thoughts, but didn’t really explain how that was different from the mind shaping a soul.”

“It’s pretty interconnected and not fully understood - I don’t know if even Arthur Peregrine really understands it all.” Anima commented. “This is getting a bit far afield though.”

“Mages of any stripe love talking about magic,” Canaveral interjected. “Get them talking about it and they won’t stop for hours - it’s something they all have in common.”

“Well of course they would! It’s fascinating! And besides, don’t you _also_ use magic?” I asked him.

He frowned at me. “That’s a bit of a secret. Anyway, I’m not a mage - just a natural talent. I’ve never taken the time and effort to expand my one kinetic manipulation trick - I don’t have the right mindset for it.”

“Natural talent?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Like I said, I’m not a mage. Get Holly or Anima to explain it, they’d do a better job anyway.”

“The _point_,” Anima said, “is that my particular brand of magic involves the lifeforce of living creatures. I can drain that energy from others and deposit it elsewhere. I can mess with my own - or rather, my own plus whatever I’ve taken recently - and do interesting things with that as well.

“So yes, I can dump lifeforce into an object to bring it to life and control it. I can also burn it up to temporarily enhance my physical or mental abilities. I can give it to others, too, in order to heal them, which is what I meant to be getting at.”

“Hold on,” I interrupted. “We can come back to the healing. How do you get the lifeforce to work with? I mean, you said you were an absorber, right? That means you’re not just generating it, you have to get it from somewhere, just like Vulcan does. But he can step into a furnace or something, yours would have to come from living things... wouldn’t it?” The implications were... not all that pleasant.

“Well,” Anima said after a moment, “I do generate some of it. Part of my magic has resulted in me having than others to start with and producing it faster, as a consequence of all the times I’ve drained myself and my body worked over time to produce more. And when I’m on patrol I can drain people just enough to knock them out. But...” she sounded a little uncomfortable, and I felt bad about asking - it was obvious she didn’t like doing whatever it was. “...Yes, I do have to get it from somewhere when I need a lot. I, um. I go to animal shelters that have to put down animals, and drain them so that it’s painless. It...” She sounded choked up now, and I really wished I hadn’t asked. “I wish I didn’t have to, but...”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, then repeated a little louder, not sure if the microphones would have caught me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked - that was obviously a sore spot and I should have known even before asking that it would be sensitive. I just...” _Fuck_, here I was screwing up my relationship with the team before I even joined!

“It’s okay,” she said after a moment. “Just.. the point was that as a healer, I feel obligated to help people. Heroes, ideally, because they’re the smallest group that makes the largest difference, at least in my estimation. So... yeah.”

Vulcan hadn’t had his turn yet. But my thoughtless question had stalled the conversation pretty effectively, and after a few minutes of awkward silence, I left.


	79. 3. Scene 11

_Scene 11 - October 29th  
_ _Arachne Crafts, Early Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

After classes the next day, I swung by a craft store on my way home to pick up some fabric. I had already asked my friend Susan if I could borrow her red wig, and a blue bodysuit had been easy to find from a costume shop on the way back from the Compound yesterday. That left just a cut-off jacket, knee-high boot covers, all in green - the mask was in blue, but since I was replacing the lower legs of the bodysuit, I could cut them off and make the mask from them. With no classes tomorrow, I could spend the day sewing and working on the impression, and should be ready in time to wear it to classes and the party the day after.

Ready enough, at any rate. I honestly didn’t care all that much about the costume contest, but people had expectations of me at this point. I couldn’t let them down.

It was taking a while to find the right kind of fabric, though. Ideally it should be something stiff enough that it could hold its shape for the jacket, which shouldn’t be a problem, but it also had to be both shiny enough to be believable as boots and matte enough to not be ugly as a jacket. It was a tough balance to strike. In real life, of course, they were both leather, or some kind of high-tech fabric that looked like it, but I wouldn’t be able to afford a pair of knee-high leather boots and a matching jacket to dye green for a costume I would wear once.

As I browsed, pausing occasionally at one piece of fabric or another, I wasn’t paying as much attention to my surroundings as a possibly-future-hero probably should, and it was only my ESP that stopped me from bumping into another woman who had clearly been paying even less. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” I said automatically as I stopped.

“Oh, you’re fine,” she responded, glancing up from a shopping list, and I was surprised to recognize her.

“Professor Marigold?” I asked, and she smiled at me.

“Mx. Kaufman!” she said, sounding delighted to have run into me. “What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to my favorite craft store?”

“It was on my way home, and I needed some fabric,” I told her. It wasn’t quite on my way, but superpowers really did have a lot of mundane utility - in this case, negating the need for a bus.

“Ah yes, the costume contest,” she said with a nod. “I’ve heard about your record. Although you’re cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“When do I not?” I joked. “But really, I’ll be fine. It’s half the impression, anyway.”

“Can an impression really cover for a less-than-perfect costume?”

I shrugged. “It’s half-and-half, really. If you look close enough and act close enough, people’s minds fill in the details. And hey, that’s what art is all about - getting close enough that your audience will take you the rest of the way on their own. It’s more believable that way.”

The professor gave me a wistful smile. “I always wanted to be an artist myself, you know,” she mused. “I never had the talent, though. Visual art has always escaped me.”

“You have a way with words, though,” I told her. “Certainly you always keep the class enthralled. My father wouldn’t be happy with me if I didn’t count wordsmithing as a kind of art all its own.”

“How is David? I’ve heard he’s out of the hospital - is he doing better?”

“Yes, totally fine,” I assured her. “He’s been out for a week and a half or so, and is doing great.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I was a little worried.”

“I’m telling you, Dad is fine. It’s not the first time his illness has gotten the best of him and it won’t be the last. But he always beats it in the end. Always has, always will.”

“You have great confidence if your father,” she observed.

“And why shouldn’t I?” I asked. “He’s never failed me before, after all.” And he never would. I refused to even consider the possibility.

“What exactly does he have, anyway?” she asked. “I’m sorry if it’s a sensitive subject, but he’s never mentioned it to us at work, and I can’t help but be curious...”

“If he hasn’t said, I don’t think it’s my place to,” I demurred.

The professor nodded, seeming to accept my excuse. “Alright. I just want to say...” She hesitated, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she wasn’t sure if she should say whatever it was, or how I would take it. After a moment, though, she continued. “If you ever need anyone to talk to... I know I’m not exactly close to your father, and metahuman history isn’t exactly your _thing_, but you’ve been an excellent student. If you need to talk to someone about it...”

“Why are you being so...” I faltered. “I don’t know... accommodating, I guess? There’s a reason I’m not a writer...”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been very understanding about dad’s illness,” I said, trying to explain what I meant, “and that if I need to talk to someone about it, your door is open. You’re not... um...”

She flushed almost as red as her hair. “No no no, not at all! I just... my late husband also had a chronic illness. He passed away two years ago. I know that it’s hard, for those who love them. I suppose I just wanted to be able to be there for you, because no one was for me.”

“I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She shook her head. “You had no reason to, Mx. Kaufman.”

“We’re not in class, Quinn is fine.”

The professor managed a smile, although it was clear even to me that she was still embarrassed about my thankfully-incorrect assumption, and maybe a little teared-up from thoughts of her husband. “Then you should call me Joanne.”


	80. 3. Scene 12

_Scene 12 - October 29th_

_Arachne Crafts, Continuous_

_Quinn Kaufman_

“Actually, Joanne,” I said, having a sudden thought, “I think I _would_ like to talk with you. Not about dad, but I think it’s relevant to your course.”

“Oh! Of course, what is it?” Joanne - and wasn’t it weird to be thinking of one of my professors, a woman my father’s age, by her first name - asked.

“I was talking with some friends of mine in a study group early today,” I told her, “about superheroes. Specifically, the idea that if you have superpowers, you’re morally obligated to use them for the betterment of society. We didn’t really come to a conclusion, and I admit, I came out less certain of my own opinion than I came in. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the subject?”

We really had, too. At the end the study group, I had taken the opportunity to ask Susan if I could borrow her wig, and after explaining my costume, used it as a segue to mention an editorial I claimed to have read. From there, the natural tendency of college students to argue had taken over, and everyone in the group had to have their say.

“That’s a very interesting question,” Joanne commented, turning to run her hands through the green fabric hanging next to us. “I hope that at this point in my class you’re not surprised to learn that throughout history, different societies have had a lot of different views on the topic.”

“Please,” I said, gesturing for her to continue, “enlighten me. It is indeed an interesting question, and I don’t mind a recreational lecture every now and then.”

She smirked. “Well, back when metahumans were believed to be demigods, there initially wasn’t any moral thinking attached to how powers should be used at all - quite the opposite, in fact. They were viewed as tools, gifts from gods, and to be used as the metahuman in question saw fit. If the god disapproved, surely the powers would be retracted - so rather than having a moral obligation to use your power in a particular way, the possession of them at all was a confirmation that however you _did_ use them was morally correct.

“Skip forward a little to when powers were supposed to be gifts from saints, and it gets a little more complicated. The god-given-and-therefore-a-sign-of-divine-favor thinking was definitely still present, but with the advent of the bible and monotheistic thinking, there were now distinct morals that God was known to enforce,” she told me. “Polytheistic religions were more flexible in that way - respect for the gods was constant, but other than that, there was at least one god who could be claimed as your patron pretty much no matter what your thinking was.

“With monotheism, God became less flexible. As a result, if you followed god, your powers were a confirmation of your righteousness. If you turned away, they were a gift from the _devil_, not from a saint, and proof of your wickedness instead.”

“But still keeping to the general model that it confirmed how you were already behaving, rather than suggesting a particular way to behave?” I asked.

“Exactly,” Joanne agreed - although with her having launched into a lecture that would fit right into Metahuman History, I was finding it even more difficult not to think of her as Professor Marigold. “Again, it changed with the scientific revolution. With powers now being thought to be earthly rather than heavenly, they weren’t divine confirmation of anything, good _or _bad.

“Instead, powers were believed to be a natural human trait - or a trait of some particular humans, at any rate. There were several notable philosophers - Percival Sterling, Anthony Tonare, and Martin Abelard - who wrote on what exactly it should mean for society. Sterling felt that metahumans were naturally better than humans and thus qualified to rule - Tonare thought they were obviously meant to use their talents, whatever those talents were meant to be for - and Abelard suggested that, rather than being qualified to rule, they were qualified to _serve_. That their powers should be used for the benefit of society.”

“Those three philosophers in the mid-to-late 1500s set the model for how metahumans would fit into society for the next five centuries,” she explained. “Sterling was never very popular - with metahumans as only 15 percent of the population, I’m sure you can see why - but Tonare and Abelard’s views came into and out of prominence, even if not always attributed to them.

“So going back to your question, Quinn, the idea that metahumans are obligated to use their powers for society is a Abelish idea.”

“So the popularity of superheroes is thanks to Abelard?”

“That’s right,” the professor confirmed. “Of course, there’s a lot of Tonaric influence as well - in fact, I would say that Tonare’s ideas are waxing, and Abelard’s are waning. Superheroes are popular, but the number of metahumans who just use their powers in relatively normal jobs is far higher. There’s a reason that the DMO includes the Metahuman Entertainment Division and the Metahuman Mercantile Division, not just the Metahuman Law Enforcement Divison.”

“The MLED for the Abelish, the MED and the MMD for the Tonarics?” I asked, and she nodded. “That leaves the MCD for the... what are those who hold to Sterling’s views?”

“Just Sterlings. And yes, supervillains _do_ tend to end up being handled by the containment division.”

“Are there any groups who still believe in the divine right arguments?”

“Far smaller, but yes. They don’t have a unifying philosopher to name themselves after, though, so they’re called metapagans.”

“Why isn’t this part of the class?”

She snorted. “There’s still a month left, Quinn. This lecture is on the syllabus for the last week of November.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Professor, you never gave us a syllabus.” Marigold - Joanne - whatever - just shrugged. “That really was interesting to learn ahead of schedule, but... it doesn’t answer what _you_ think.”

She sighed. “Honestly, Quinn, I don’t agree with any of them. All three - Tonare, Abelard, and Sterling - believed that metahumans had a duty to use their powers. They disagreed for what purpose, but they all believed that if you had an extraordinary ability, you should use it. I don’t.” I tensed, and she quickly added, “not to say that I think metahumans _shouldn__’t_ use their powers. But I’m very much a believer in the idea that no one should feel bound to do anything they don’t want to. Society doesn’t allow for quite that level of freedom, of course, but it does mean that I think you’re not bound to use your power by some kind of moral duty.”

That fit very well with Canaveral’s beliefs, I thought. I wondered if he would consider himself a Tonaric or if, like Joanne, he would set himself apart from Tonare as well.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Professor - Joanne,” I corrected myself. “Fortunately,” I hefted the fabric that I had finally chosen during her lecture, “I have something to do while I think.”


	81. 3. Scene 13

_Scene 13 - October 30th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Late Afternoon  
_ _Susan Shepard_

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said as I stepped into the conference room, nodding to Henry and Canaveral, who were already sitting at the table and chatting. Anima, who I had met in the elevator, greeted them as well.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Henry said with a smile. “What brings me in so early?”

“I’ll explain when Loki gets here,” I told him, taking my own seat at the head of the table and beginning to connect my laptop to the room’s projector system. “No point in going over it twice.”

“I’m not sure if she’ll be in costume or not,” Canaveral told me, “but either way, it shouldn’t be long before she arrives. I know she’s around today. She and Simone were brainstorming a costume for this party that she and Quinn are going to.” He himself was in costume with his cowl down, as he often was around the base. He wore casual clothes on days that he wasn’t actually on shift, but as the leader of the New Champions he was on duty most days. Not that he didn’t hang around even when he wasn’t.

I couldn’t help but be a little amused at his choice of topic, but instead simply commented, “It sounds like Holly is already rather attached to Mx. Kaufman.” The meeting wasn’t scheduled to start for another two minutes - she had time.

“If by ‘attached to’ you mean ‘crushing hard on’, then yes, Holly is quite attached to them,” Canaveral agreed with a chuckle. “It’s kind of cute, in fact. She’s somehow both very completely lacking in subtlety _and_ too shy to actually make a move.”

“_Very _cute,” Anima agreed.

“And what does Kaufman think of it?” Henry asked.

“I think they’re open to the idea, but they don’t really believe that she’s interested. They’re second-guessing themself too much to do anything either. They... seem to do that a lot, I think.”

Henry smirked. “What’s the betting pool on how long it’ll take them to get together?”

“You know that betting isn’t allowed,” I warned. It wasn’t my policy, of course - I felt that communal bonding of that type would be a benefit, in fact - but the director of the MLED as a whole, August Redding, disagreed.

“Hypothetically, of course,” he clarified, and I let it pass. I had made my views on the topic clear when Redding had set forth the policy, but still. A little plausible deniability is all I asked for.

“Hypothetically, it might be split pretty evenly,” Anima told Henry, “between them getting together within a week of Quinn joining up, and it taking more than a year.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think - ah, Loki!” One of the topics of discussion had suddenly appeared in an unoccupied chair - in costume, as it turned out. “Ah... how long have you been there?” Canaveral asked, sounding a little nervous.

The younger hero raised a perfectly-sculpted brow. “Long enough,” he replied. “I thought you were against gossip in the workplace, boss?”

“That was in a crisis situation,” Canaveral protested. “This isn’t an emergency - is it, Director?”

“No,” I agreed. “But we should turn to the real topic. Let’s set Loki’s possible romance with Mx. Kaufman aside and turn to the reason I asked you four here...” I couldn’t help be relish the moment as I turned on the projector, placing Quinn Kaufman’s face on the wall behind me. “...Mx. Kaufman.”


	82. 3. Scene 14

_Scene 14 - October 30th  
_ _Interior MLED Compound, Continuous  
_ _Susan Shepard_

Canaveral leaned back in his chair, seeming unsurprised - he, of course, had probably known the purpose of the meeting from the moment I called it. Henry snorted, seeing the same humor in our pre-meeting banter as I had. Loki stayed completely silent and still, and it ended up being Anima who spoke first.

“What about them?” she asked. “I thought the decision to offer them a place was pretty set.”

“It is, regardless of the outcome of this meeting,” I agreed. “But... one moment...” I turned on the conference room’s recording system so that my secretary could take the minutes of the meeting later.

“This meeting is not about whether or not Mx. Kaufman has a place in the MLED - that much has already been decided. Rather,” I clarified, “it is to dissect the possible red flags that have been noticed around them, and determine if we will be offering a place under the so-called ‘Enemies Closer’ policy or simply as a prospective hero. In attendance are myself, Director Susan Shepard; my deputy, Henry Blackmire; Canaveral, as the team leader of the MLED Heroic Agent team designated ‘New Champions’; his deputy, Anima; and Loki, as the leader of the MLED Junior Heroic Agent team designated ‘the Journeymen’.

“You are here for several reasons,” I told them. “Henry, you haven’t met Kaufman personally yet. Any possible telepathic abilities that may be influencing the rest of us will be unlikely to have affected you, and your opinion will be relatively unbiased, only being shaped by written reports.

“Canaveral, you were the MLED’s first contact with Kaufman - Anima, you were on console with him at the time, and can provide a perspective on that night untouched by hypothetical telepathic abilities. Additionally, Canaveral, your team leader status qualifies you to be present in any meeting relating to Heroic Agent recruitment.

“Finally, Loki,” I said, turning to him, “you’ve had the _most_ contact with them. Additionally, this type of meeting is important for you to be aware of as part of your leadership training - that’s why I’m going into more detail than I otherwise might.”

Loki moved for the first time since I had begun the meeting proper, asking, “Are these meetings held every time a new metahuman is being considered for recruitment?”

Henry shook his head. “No, only when there are possible red flags. Usually it’s pretty clear one way or another - either there are flags or there aren’t, and either they are or aren’t enough to deny recruitment. Edge cases are rare - that’s why we didn’t need one when Journey joined, even though that was after you were placed on the leader track.”

I nodded. “The process is to begin by having each person dissect their knowledge of the potential recruit, in order of least to most familiar. Deputy Director, if you would?”

He wheeled his chair back slightly and pushed a button on the side, raising himself up slightly. When he had been director, he had always stood to address a conference room - he once told me that as a man, being five foot four made it hard to command attention in a room, and standing while others sat was one of the best tricks he had found. Since his injury, he obviously couldn’t do that anymore, but he had found a way.

“As Director Shepard said, I haven’t met Mx. Kaufman personally,” he told us. “I have, however, read through Canaveral and Anima’s reports of the night of first contact, as well as heard the rumors about them. My secondhand impression is of a confident young person who is perhaps a little unsure of what to do with their life. They received their powers recently and had no life plans that involved being a metahuman - with the addition of powers, they have more options than they had before, and aren’t sure what to do now.” He smirked. “Gossip also pegs them as Canaveral’s illegitimate child based on how they moved in bodycam footage of the drug bust, and that he personally escorted them home after Legion showed up. A lot of people overestimating Canaveral’s age, apparently.”

“Any other gossip?” Canaveral asked mildly. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed by the rumor Henry had shared - Abe was a surprisingly good actor when he wanted to be.

“I’m not sure I would call it gossip, exactly, but...” Henry shrugged. “There’s a bit of an argument among the troops over whether they’re male or female. I actually meant to mention it to you at tonight’s shift change, Susan - we should schedule a gender seminar for the common agents. Especially as it’s reignited the debate around Loki.”

Loki sighed. “You know I don’t really care. As long as people leave me alone, it doesn’t matter what they think they know. The people who matter understand.”

“I know, but it’s not just you,” he said. “A trans agent brought it up to me last night - she and a nonbinary friend of hers are feeling uncomfortable about it, and I doubt Kaufman would be pleased if they knew either.”

“We’ll get it scheduled later, but for now let’s stay on topic,” I promised, trying to get us back on track. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Legion’s apparent connection to their mother is concerning, but the mother vanished more than a decade ago - it has nothing to do with Kaufman themself. I personally see no reason for alarm. Anima?” He began lowering himself once more.

“I’ve only met them in person once,” she said, “and only very briefly. My interaction is primarily second-hand as well, through the console. My impression was of an intelligent person without much regard for themself and their value as a person.”

“Really?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem to fit with Henry’s observation.”

“Oh, they hide it,” Anima noted, “pretty well, too - I didn’t notice myself until Canaveral pointed it out to me. But when you know, it’s clear. They handled their life being put in danger - a gun pointed at them, _Legion_ showing up at their door - far too well for them to have as much care for their life as they should.” She shook her head. “The kid has some serious self-confidence issues.”

“Anything else?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I noticed anything that Canaveral couldn’t explain better. I do agree with Henry that there’s no real cause for alarm, though.”

“Let’s move on to you then,” I said, turning to him. “What are your thoughts on them? You were the one who flagged their file to have this meeting, after all.” Loki turned to stare at him.

Canaveral sighed. “Anima nailed it. They have a low opinion of themself - I’m not sure why - which they mask with humor and false confidence.” He drummed his fingers on the table briefly, then added, “My best guess is that they have chronic anxiety issues, although it’s possible that they have problems at home which contributed to their low self-confidence. I don’t think so, though - if that was the problem, I’d expect them to jump into the MLED as an escape, rather than agonize over the choice as they have been.”

“And the flags you noticed?”

“Nothing to do with them as a person,” he said, “But a great deal to do with their suit and their family. I know,” he held a hand up to forestall any objections, “their mother vanished a long time ago, and nothing suggests that they’ve been in contact. But.

“Well... have any of you seen their supersuit?”

“Not in person,” I said, “only through your helmet’s camera. Not the best quality video.” Everyone else nodded.

“Quinn told me that they found their suit in their parents’ attic, and that it had been made by their mother. Frankly...” he sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I submitted that flag before they had their chat with Legion last week. My initial assumption was that they were lying, and had stolen the suit.”

“But you don’t think that anymore?” I asked.

“Not anymore, no. That was before I knew that their mother had some connection to Legion, and before I looked into Laura Kaufman.”

“What did you find?”

“Not a lot,” Canaveral admitted. “I think a lot of information about her has been scrubbed from the internet. What’s there is the bare minimum - her college, her work history, missing person report filed by her husband... and that’s about it.”

“Maybe she just had a small online footprint?” Henry tried.

“Maybe, but I have a hunch otherwise. I’m not completely sure what’s going on there, but I have a bad feeling about it. If she really did create that suit, and it really did activate superpowers as Quinn told me...”

“Then her disappearance is the best lead we have for Legion,” I finished, and he nodded.

“What does that have to do with Quinn that counts as a red flag, though?” Loki said, and I blinked in surprise. He had been so quiet that I had nearly forgotten the young man was there.

“Nothing for certain. But, well... it’s suspicious that a working supersuit that grants powers could have been just lying in an attic for almost fifteen years and still work. I think it’s more likely that Legion planted it. And if Legion delivered the suit, which would have had to be done well before we knew she was in town, she could easily have contacted the Kaufmans in the past as well.”

“Do you have any other reason to suspect this?” I asked.

“None of you have seen the suit in person, so you’ll just have to trust me on this - it looks a hell of a lot like Starling’s,” he said. “The fabric is similar, they have about the same kind of boots and gauntlets, even their belts are the same style. The biggest difference is a full-face mask vs no mask included. And sure, my suit isn’t much different either, but...” he glanced at Loki. “You know that pattern on Starling’s suit? The really subtle one that most people can’t see?”

“Sure,” he confirmed. I myself had never been able to make out the pattern that they both insisted was there, but I was told that Anima could see it as well. “Sort of like neurons, right?”

“Quinn’s suit has the same pattern,” Canaveral said grimly. “Not to mention that it seems to have a similar purpose to Starling’s, enhancing their powers and making them tougher, and the powers it grants - enhanced senses and a sort of self-targeting telekinesis - are very close as well.

“Starling invented his suit himself,” Anima said. “What are we suggesting here - that Quinn stole the suit from him? That Legion stole it on Quinn’s behalf? That _Starling_ got his suit from the same source that Legion got Quinn’s from?”

“I have some theories, but nothing I’m ready to share. There are still too many unknowns, too many possibilities,” Canaveral said. “For now, I’ve said my piece.”

“Fine.” This... was definitely concerning. As Canaveral had said, there was nothing definitive here - a tenuous connection between Kaufman’s suit and Starling’s, and another between their mother and Legion. There were no doubt countless explanations that could fit what we knew, both innocent and less so. “We’ll keep an eye on it for now.”

“For the record,” Canaveral added, “I don’t think any of this speculation has any bearing on Quinn. If they’re admitted under Enemies Closer, the surveillance should be focused on these possible connections with Legion, rather than on Quinn themself.”

“Noted, thank you,” I said. “Loki?”

“I have nothing to add,” said Loki in a rather flat voice, and the other two heroes frowned at him, concerned. He perked up a little and continued, “honestly, I don’t - and probably shouldn’t really. You guys are right, I’m crushing on Quinn - and _please_ don’t tell them that before I work up the courage to do it myself - so I’m very far from unbiased.”

“That’s why you’re going last,” I reminded them. “The least biased first, because those who know the person already are less likely to change their views after hearing others speak. And we _want_ to hear your possible biases, because if what you think is notably different from what others observed, that’s a potential reason - _potential,__”_ I stressed, “for concern.”

Loki nodded. “Okay, that... that makes sense, I guess.” He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair before starting. “When I first met Quinn a week or two ago, I thought they seemed... well, like a decent person. Nothing particularly stood out, other than that it would be nice to have someone else outside the gender binary on the team. And...” he blushed a little bit, “that they had very nice hair.

“It wasn’t until we bumped into each other while shopping the next day that I realized how cool they were,” he continued. “We started talking about art and magic and the conversation flowed easily, so we ended up spending... most of the day together, I guess. It was nice, you know? I don’t have a ton of people who can keep up with me and Quinn... I mean, they don’t know much about magic, not yet anyway, but they’re smart enough to learn quickly and ask good questions. They could probably become a mage themself, if they tried.”

That sounded like the optimism of a crush, but I didn’t argue. I _had_ asked for his biased opinion, after all.

“They, uh... they might have asked me out while we were having dinner that day,” Loki admitted, a blush briefly appearing on his cheeks before vanishing. I was certain the blush was still there, just hidden by an illusion.

“Nice!” Anima cheered. “So do you have a date set up already?”

“Asking during dinner together sounds like it would be a _second_ date,” Canaveral commented. “Do you have a chaperone for the party tonight, young man?”

Loki looked down. “No, I... I gave them a soft no, I said maybe when I was less busy. It came as a surprise, I hadn’t really thought about them like that yet, and... well, I was too surprised to say yes or no yet. And besides,” he said, defending himself, “it might not have actually been asking out like that, they just asked if we could talk more about magic sometime!”

“Stop it,” I ordered. “It’s not the time for teasing, this is an official meeting.”

“Sorry, boss,” Canaveral said, not sounding very sorry. “The teasing will have to wait until _after_ the meeting.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Please continue, Loki.”

He bit his lip thoughtfully, then said, “I don’t think anything super important between us has happened since then, other than me realizing that yeah, I have a crush - I _know, _I’m gonna tell them at the party!” he hissed at Anima and Canaveral.

“If that’s all, then your final impressions are?”

“Quinn is a nice, clever person who’s pleasant to spend time with,” he said. “I didn’t notice any self-confidence issues myself - although they _are_ a good actor, like Anima said. They’re good at impressions too. It’s not impossible that I’d have missed it.” I waited for a moment, and then Loki flushed and added, “I don’t think they have any big red flags.”

“Alright.” I glanced at my watch. “We’re all busy people, and the consensus seems to be that there isn’t much to worry about with Mx. Kaufman. Let’s take a five minute recess to get water, use the restroom, and let everyone’s observations sink in - if no one has any objections after that, we’ll conclude the meeting.”

Canaveral exchanged a wicked look with Anima. “You know what that means...”

“Oh no,” Loki denied. “No teasing! Nope nope nope!” He vanished with a faint pop, and the sound of running feet swiftly excited the room. Those of us who remained couldn't help but laugh.


	83. 3. Scene 15

_Scene 15 - October 31st  
_ _Interior Townhouse, Late Morning  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I accidentally slept in too late on Halloween morning and had to rush to get into my costume, which I had finished late the previous night. It was rough, but when combined with the wig and the right mannerisms, I felt that I had more than a passing resemblance to Anima. And whether or not I won the costume contest for the fourth year running, I had certainly done enough to not embarrass myself.

I took a few moments to set up how my impression would go - I cocked one hip to the side, put my hands on my hips, and twisted my upper body slightly to accentuate what few curves I had. I was happy with the slim, androgynous build that I had, but it was very different from Anima’s generous curves. Maybe I should have added some padding?

No, it wasn’t all looks, I reminded myself. “Quinn, right? I’m Anima. It’s...” I trailed off, frowning. The voice wasn’t quite right. I had gotten it yesterday, how had I done it? I pitched up slightly and tried again. “Quinn, right? I’m Anima.” No, not quite right either. What was I missing?

Oh yeah. I quirked the corners of my mouth enough to put a smile in my voice. “Quinn, right? I’m Anima. It’s nice to meet you properly.” Yes, there it was!

The costume and the impression weren’t the only things I had figured out yesterday, either. After a lot of thought, I had made up my mind about registering as a hero.

I wasn’t going to do it.

I had gotten a lot of advice about it. Devon had suggested taking it slowly and asking those who already had the job about it. Hypnos said that I shouldn’t join, as I had no need of what it offered me - Holly said that I _should _join, because it was fun. Canaveral had said that I should only join if I wanted to do it, and Anima had said it was the right thing to do - at least for her, since she had healing powers.

Ultimately, though, it was Professor Marigold’s lecture in the fabric store that had helped me make up my mind. I had come to agree with her that Tonare and Abelard were both wrong - as was Sterling, but that was obvious. As she had said, there was no reason I should use my powers if I didn’t want to.

I didn’t intend to set my powers aside, they were too useful in everyday life for that - even as I was musing, I had called my backpack and a water bottle to me - but I didn’t think I was going to use them in my career. I couldn’t be a superhero. Whatever anyone thought, I knew that I would never be as good as real heroes like Canaveral, Anima, or even my new friend Loki. But I believed that I could be a good doctor, and that, I thought, would be enough.

Besides, my father would support me no matter what I chose, and that’s all that really mattered to me.


	84. 3. Scene 16

_Scene 16 - October 31st  
_ _Interior Classroom, Early Afternoon  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I slipped into the Metahuman History classroom a few minutes early, as usual, and pulled out my notebook. I had been too busy making my costume to do much art lately, but with it finished it was time to start something new. I leaned back in my chair, considering what to draw, and after a moment I began sketching out the rough shape of a mountain range.

“Hey, nice costume!” I glanced up and saw that Todd Brickler was dressed up as well, in a white bodysuit and red cape. He wore no cowl - the college didn’t allow masks on campus - but he was still identifiable as Canaveral.

“Same to you,” I politely said as he sat next to me. “I considered Canaveral myself, but...” I gestured to my skin, many shades too light.

He chuckled. “It was tough to decide between Canaveral and Vulcan, but I didn’t think I could pull off the shirtless look as well as he does.”

“Definitely not. Uh, no offense,” I assured him. “I just don’t think _anyone_ could pull it off as well as Vulcan. Man’s ripped as hell.”

“Well, you’re certainly pulling off your own costume pretty well,” he said, eyes flicking up and down my body. “You’re going to Phi Beta’s party tonight, right?”

“Same as the last three years, yeah,” I confirmed. I had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

“Wait, you’re the girl who won the last three costume contests!” He said, recognition flaring in his eyes. “I didn’t realize!”

“Not a girl, Todd,” I reminded him, annoyed - I had been openly nonbinary for years, and he had no excuse not to know that - hell, I had reminded him just a few weeks ago! “But yes, I’m the reigning champion, and I don’t plan on losing my streak.”

“Whatever. Listen, do you have a date to the party? Because I’m just going stag right now, and Canaveral and Anima sounds like a real power couple, if you know what I mean.”

“No for _many_ reasons, Todd. I already have plans to go with friends,” I informed him as icily as I could manage. “And besides, I’m pretty sure Canaveral has something going on with Zookeeper. Not to mention that I’ve turned you down before-”

He sneered. “Whatever, slut.” He rose, grabbing his stuff and moving to another seat.

I let out a sigh of relief. Insults aside, at least he stopped when he heard a ‘no’.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Professor Marigold said as she entered, dropping her shoulder bag on an unoccupied desk and finishing her soda - blue today.

“Good afternoon, professor.” Today I joined in with the three or four others who responded, and class began.


	85. 3. Scene 17

_Scene 17 - October 31st_

_Interior Townhouse, Afternoon_

_Quinn Kaufman_

“Nice costume, Quinn!” Susan said as I stepped into the study group’s usual meeting place. She gave me a wink, adding, “You look good as a redhead!”

I smiled at her. “Thank you! And thanks again for letting me borrow your wig, it really makes the outfit.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” she said, playing with a lock of hair from today’s wig - it was shoulder-length and blonde, matching the Thor costume she wore. “Planning on winning the costume contest again this year?”

I put on my Anima voice and shifted my posture as I responded, “I wouldn’t be sad if it happened, but I just want everyone to enjoy themselves!”

She laughed. “That’s uncanny, honestly.”

“I might have some competition this year though,” I said, nodding to her own costume. “Your Thor looks great!”

She blushed slightly. “It’s nothing special. Half of it is storebought.”

“Which half?”

“The wig. And this.” She hefted a foam Mjolnir.

“So you made everything else? That’s amazing, Sue!”

“Well, Orgo is my most time-consuming class, so I had the time. I don’t know how _you _did it!”

I shrugged. “I bought the base bodysuit, all I needed to do was the gloves, boots, jacket, and mask.”

“How long did it take?”

“About a day and a half? It’s rough, I know...”

“Quinn, that’s... incredibly fast,” she said, awed.

Thanks to my telekinesis I hadn’t needed to pin the fabric, being able to hold it all together. And I had barely needed to measure, either, thanks to ESP. But I decided not to mention that, instead saying, “I didn’t really stop working from the moment I bought the fabric on the 29th until I went to sleep last night. All-nighters make the impossible possible. Including seeing things when you’re tired enough, I do _not_ recommend it,” I joked.

She chuckled. “Are you going with anyone?”

“A friend I met recently never went to the party, even though she’s also a senior, so we’re going together. What about you?”

Susan hesitated before saying, “I think I was just going to be going with my sorority sisters. I’m single at the moment, so...”

“Well, I’m sure some lucky guy or gal will snap you up before long,” I told her.

She seemed a little downcast for some reason, but nodded in agreement. “Maybe I’ll even find someone at the party!”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Hey, stop flirting, you two,” Chris said in a mock-stern voice as he and Peter finally entered. “I know it’s Halloween and we’re all excited, but we still have homework to do!”

I raised an eyebrow at the two of them - Chris was wearing vampire teeth and a black suit jacket with no shirt underneath, while Peter wore a toga that left much of his own chest showing and somehow clung close to his butt as well. “Are you sure you aren’t just annoyed that Sue and I get to see you two in slutty costumes but we didn’t return the favor?”

“I just thought we had all agreed to show off our assets,” Peter said, deadpan as usual.

It took a while for the laughter to die down so we could get down to work.


	86. 3. Scene 18

_Scene 18 - October 31st_

_Exterior Mansion, Early Evening_

_Quinn Kaufman_

“Holy shit, Holly!” I said in amazement as I stared at her home. “You never mentioned you lived in a _mansion!_”

She shrugged. “It, uh, never came up?”

“How did I bump into you in a thrift shop?” I asked, still gaping.

“I like finding things online and then looking for similar stuff at a lower price,” she explained. “Sometimes magical research is going nowhere and I’ve got art block and I’m already done with my schoolwork, so... I go shopping and try to rack up as many savings as possible.”

The world twisted next to us and Simone appeared from nothingness. “Hey dudes, what’s up?” Chris and Peter would have been quite pleased by her costume - assuming they liked women who could bench press them. She was dressed as Lara Croft, a tight cropped tank-top and rather abbreviated shorts plus a pair of Nerf pistols strapped to her thighs.

“I invited Simone along too,” Holly said nervously. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” I assured her, even though a pang of sadness shot through me - I had hoped that this was meant to be a date, but it seemed not. I offered a hand to Simone. “It’s been a while! Good to see you again.”

She clasped it and pulled me in to a hug. “Yeah, they managed to arrange a week-long cross-country trip for me despite the short notice, to recharge my batteries. Bossman told me rather strictly not to let them get so low again.”

“It was a little bit of an oversight,” Holly admitted. “And your costume is, um...”

“Don’t like it?”

“No on, it’s just... you don’t usually wear anything quite so revealing.”

Simone shrugged. “It’s not my usual style, no, but Halloween is all about being someone you’re not, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Where’s _your_ costume, Holly?” I asked.

She raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “You’re asking an illusionist where her costume is?”

“I thought it wasn’t actually illusions?”

A shrug - my eyes darted down to her collarbones for a moment, exposed by the off-the-shoulder sweater she was wearing tonight, then back up to her face. “It isn’t, but I do understand that there’s not much difference for colloquial purposes. And ‘illusion’ is shorter to say than ‘light- and sound-interacting magical construct’, which is what they actually are.”

“That reminds me - how is it that they can interact with sound and not physically with anything else? I mean, sound energy is kinetic, ultimately, so...”

“Well, from a magical perspective -”

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh!” Simone cried, laying a finger on both of our mouths to silence us. “No nerdy magic talk tonight. Halloween is a day to go to a party, flirt with hot girls, and show off a little. Put your costume on, Holly!”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded as she stepped back from Simone’s finger. There was a brief shimmer, and she was suddenly an elaborate clockwork robot, her face appearing to be a porcelain mask and plates of something that might be ceramic and might be painted cardboard. I couldn’t help but be amazed by her artistic sensibility.

“Alright you two,” said Simone, grabbing us both together again. “Time for a selfie!”


	87. 3. Scene 19

_Scene 19 - October 31st_

_Exterior Frat House, Continuous_

_Quinn Kaufman_

After taking the picture, Simone hefted one of us in each arm. Before I had time to really register it, the world twisted and warped as she bent spacetime, and then she was setting us down in an alley a few blocks away from the party. It wasn’t the worst way to travel, I supposed, even if it was a little nausea-inducing to experience. Holly, however, looked perfectly fine, so I steeled myself and didn’t show it. Perhaps it would get better with practice.

Not that I was likely to get all that much, since I had decided not to join the Journeymen. But if I kept in contact with these two, perhaps Simone would still transport me every now and then.

From the alley Simone had taken us to it was only a few minutes’ walk to Phi Beta’s house, which sprawled somewhat but wasn’t as luxurious as the Koval family’s mansion - I was still amazed that Holly’s family was apparently so wealthy and I had had no idea. We joined the throng of people milling around the doorway, two frat bros dressed as Roman guardsmen judging each person’s suitability to enter. Anyone in a costume got in free, but those out of costume - or simply in one that the doormen felt to be ‘too lazy’, as they judged a group of freshmen girls whose costumes consisted of tight black shirts and cat ear headbands - were asked for five dollars to help cover expenses. You then got one of three stamps - DD for designated driver, O for those over 21, or X for those too young to drink.

“Do you have a wallet somewhere in those tiny shorts?” I asked Simone. “This year’s door guards don’t look to be swayed by cleavage like they sometimes are.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she said, confident as ever. “The nerf guns ought to push me over the edge.”

My phone buzzed as we approached the judges, and I pulled it out to silence it. When I glanced at the screen, though, I was surprised to see that the caller ID read _Devon Durandel_. “Sorry guys, I think I gotta take this,” I said apologetically, stepping out of line. “Devon never calls unless it’s important. What’s up, Devon?”

“It’s your dad,” they said, their voice low and serious.

I suppressed a sigh. “Another flare-up? Well, thanks for letting me know. I have plans tonight, but I’ll be in to see him tomorrow-”

“No, Quinn, you need to come in now,” they insisted. “It’s not just another flare-up that he’ll get through. It’s bad.”

My blood was starting to run cold, but I didn’t want to believe it. I _refused_ to believe it. “But... but he was just in the hospital a few weeks ago! He was checked out with a clean bill of health, he-”

“He wasn’t. I wanted to tell you, but... it was bad that time too. It’s been getting worse for the last three months, according to Doctor Yaffe.”

“I... why didn’t he tell me?”

“...you should come in and ask him yourself. I came in because he was my patient for so long, and... we’re not sure he’ll make it through the night.”


	88. 3. Scene 20

_Scene 20 - October 31st  
_ _Exterior Frat House, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I felt as though someone had bludgeoned me with a hammer. My thoughts weren’t flowing correctly. “I, I...” I stared down at the phone in my hands, not even really registering that Devon had hung up.

Holly pulled Simone out of the line and over to me. “What’s wrong, Quinn?”

“It’s, it’s my dad,” I stammered. “He’s in the hospital, he...” I could barely speak.

I had no idea how Holly understood, but she clearly did. She gave Simone a meaningful look, and the teleporter seemed to understand. “Which hospital?” she asked. “NV General or Sacred Heart?”

“General.” A moment later, I had been scooped up and set down in front of New Venice General Hospital.

Devon was standing outside the doors and stared in surprise as they slipped their phone into their pocket. “Quinn! I didn’t expect you so soon, but...” They offered a pained smile to Simone. “Thank you for bringing them.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she said. “Quinn, are you gonna be okay? Do you want me to stay? Should I get Holly?”

I wobbling walked over to Devon and took their arm, trying to steady myself. Simone repeated their question, and this time I managed to shake my head.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Devon assured Simone. “Thank you again.”

“You can call me or Holly any time and we’ll be back here in a flash if you change your mind,” Simone told me. I nodded dumbly, and after a moment she was gone.

“She seemed like a good friend,” Devon remarked as they led me into the building. “How long have you known her? And this Holly she mentioned?”

“Don’t,” I muttered. “Please don’t quiz me on my love life. Not now.”

“Sorry. Just thought you might appreciate something familiar.”

“I just... I just want to see him,” I whispered.

We said nothing more until we reached my father’s bed.


	89. 3. Scene 21

_Scene 21 - October 21st  
_ _Interior Hospital - Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

Dad smiled weakly at me as I stood in the doorway, looking more sickly than I had ever seen him. “Heya, kiddo,” he said, quietly. “How’s things? Did you make it to the party?”

I glared, trying to summon up some anger. “How could you!” I hissed. “How could you - how could you...” A moment later, I deflated, and just walked over to sit beside him and take his hand in my own. He held onto me almost as tightly as I held onto him. “How could you be dying?” I finally finished.

My father sighed. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you let it be a surprise,” I said bitterly. “Instead of giving me time to get used to the idea.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Because I know you, Quinn. You wouldn’t have gotten used to it. You would have obsessed over it until you found something to distract yourself, and then tried not to think about it. He had to pause to cough. “...and it would still have come as a shock,” he finished.

“...yeah, I guess you’re right.” I squeezed his fingers. He winced, and I loosened my grip a little. “Sorry.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes before I said, “I think I knew for a while, even without being told. In the back of my head. I just didn’t want to think about it, like you said. I was in denial of how bad it was, despite people’s concern. Maybe I knew that if I acknowledged it, the anxiety would...”

“You get that from your mother, you know.”

“Anxiety?”

Dad nodded. “She was a lot like you.”

“You never talked about her much.”

He gave me another one of those sickly smiles. “Yes, well... you get the denial from me. If I didn’t talk about her, I could... I could pretend she was still...”

We fell quiet again.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that can be done?” I asked - speaking up a little this time, so that Devon and Dr. Yaffe, who were waiting just outside, could hear.

“Devon and Mark both agree that there isn’t anything else,” Dad said. “Mark has been a miracle worker already, keeping me fit enough to work and to live at home, mostly. But there’s only so much that can be done.”

“We could have gone to Peregrine Hospital,” I protested.

“You know that we can’t afford that,” he denied. “Even the travel expenses would be too much, let alone admission.”

“There’s a healer right here in New Venice, Anima is-”

“-is devoted to the New Champions, yes. She’s a busy women, she doesn’t have the time for every little thing.”

“You are _not_ a little thing,” I said fiercely. “You’re an incredible professor. You’re a world-renowned expert in poetry. You’re my _father._ You’re _David Kaufman.__”_

I realized that my father’s eyes had closed. “No!” I shouted, shaking him. “Dad, please, stay with me!”

He opened his eyes after a moment. “I’m sorry, kiddo, it’s... it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I don’t have much energy left, I’m afraid.”

I hugged him as tightly as I dared. “Dad, please...”

“Sit down, Quinn. Tell me what’s in your head. What are you thinking?”

It took a moment to convince my arms to release him so that I could sink back into the chair and reclaim dad’s hand. “About what?”

“Your future. What are you going to do tomorrow?”

I tried to think about it, and found it hard to imagine a future without my father in it. “I don’t know. Not much, I expect. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of bed, honestly. I guess I’ll have to arrange your funeral...” I swiped at my face, only then realizing that I was crying. No surprise, I supposed.

“Tsk. Come on, Quinn, have you never talked to a dying man before?”

“What do you mean?”

Dad smirked at me, and when he did he looked like himself for a second - not the pale, sickly version of himself he had been moments before. “You’re not supposed to tell me the truth, you’re supposed to make me feel better. I’m dying here - tell me how great you’re gonna do without me.”

“...okay.”

“So?”

I took a deep breath. “I guess... I’m going to finish my bio degree. I’m close enough that it would be silly not to. But also...”

“Also?”

“I’m going to become a hero, dad. Like you wanted.”

He smiled widely. “That’s great to hear, kiddo.”

“I... I’m going to ask out Holly - the one I told you about, remember?”

“I remember. Be brave - girls like a confident partner.”

“I think... I’m going to try and stick with my art, too. Maybe I’ll find some other artists in the MLED and we can put a show together.”

“That sounds like it would be wonderful.”

I was crying again, crying into his hand. “Dad, I... I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

“Quinn...”

“No, I’m not going to lie! You always raised me to be honest, and it’s the truth! Dad, you... you’ve always been there for me. Without you...” I sobbed gently. “I can’t even imagine it. I’m going to fall apart, dad. I... I...”

It was some time later that my father spoke again. “‘Do not stand at my grave and weep,’” he began. “‘I am not there; I do not sleep. / I am a thousand winds that blow, / I am the diamond glints on snow, / I am’-”

“Don’t you _dare_ quote at me,” I hissed. “I don’t want your trite bullshit right now!”

“Quinn-”

“I know you love poetry, but please, please don’t sink into it right now!” I begged. “Please, please just... just be here with me? Just... just us. No ancient authors getting in our way.”

“...I didn’t realize it bothered you.”

“It...” I deflated again, all the anger slipping away. I couldn’t be mad at my father - I never could. “It doesn’t, really,” I admitted. “I just... I don’t want you to comfort me. I just want you not to go.”

Dad slipped his hand out of my grip and ran it through my hair briefly. I leaned into the gentle touch. “I understand, Quinn. I just...” He seemed to be about to say something, then stopped. “Can you promise me something, Quinn?”

“Anything.”

“Promise me...” he trailed off and seemed to be thinking, his hand still stroking my hair. “Promise me that you won’t forget about your art,” he said after a moment.

“I promise. I’ll always be an artist, you know that.”

“That you’ll always be honest and kind.”

“I promise. I won’t forget what you taught me.”

“And that... that you’ll always do the right thing.”

“I promise, dad. I... I’ll even become a hero.”

“And that... you’ll remember to feed the elephant.”

“The... the elephant?”

He gave me a weak smile. “I bought you an elephant for Hanukkah. It’s... it’s in the attic.”

I found myself laughing a little as well as crying. “I bought _you_ an elephant, dad,” I managed. “It’s... in the basement.”

He laughed too, although it looked like it pained him. “I hope they’ll get along with each other.”

“I’m sure they will. Soon the house will be overrun with elephants.”

“But no one will mention them,” he joked, and I broke.

“Dad, please...”

“I win, kiddo. But now...” He reached down and took my hand again. “Now it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving the world in your hands, Quinn. Promise me...”

“...dad?”


	90. 3. Scene 22

_Scene 22 - October 31st  
_ _Interior Hospital, Continuous  
_ _Quinn Kaufman_

I couldn’t think.

“Time of death, nine thirty four pm.”

There was nothing left.

“Come on, Quinn, let’s get you home.”

“How are we going to get them back? I bussed, you walked...”

“See if you can find the info for a Holly in their phone – I didn’t catch the name of the teleporter who brought them, but I got the impression the two are waiting together.”

Somehow, I made it out of the hospital. I didn’t know how, or where to.

“My god - what happened?”

“Their father died tonight. It was unexpected, I think. I don’t want to leave them alone, so...”

“Yes, of course. They can use one of the spare rooms.”

I found myself lying on a bed. It might have been comfortable, or maybe not. I couldn’t tell. I wouldn’t have cared even if I could.

“...rest, Quinn. We’re here for you.”


	91. 3. Intermission (Scene 1)

_Scene 1 - Fourteen Years Ago  
_ _Exterior Cemetery, Early Evening  
_ _Benjamin Brant_

“...a couple that all looked up to and admired. Philanthropists, community leaders, role models. They...”

I didn’t really pay attention as the priest continued with his spiel. It was true, I supposed, but it didn’t really come close to what my mother and father had been. And listening to it, listening to what people had thought of them, hurt in a way I wasn’t sure I could describe.

My uncle, standing next to me, noticed that I had stopped paying attention, my head tilted down, and took my hand in his. He squeezed it, gently. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but I squeezed back, and he seemed satisfied.

My parents had been killed violently and in the most senseless fashion. They had been out for the night at a restaurant, one of their favorites, while I stayed home to watch the new dog - a young puppy who wasn’t fully housebroken yet. I had been cleaning up after her when the news came, when I found out that a robbery gone wrong had ended up with the robber hiding in the restaurant and taking them as hostages. That they had ended up being killed along with the robber when the police came. He hadn’t even known who they were, just that they were there.

Uncle Bruce took me by the shoulder and began to lead me away from the grave. Before I left, I took a glance back at the matching coffins which held my parents. “Never again,” I swore. I wouldn’t let anyone else suffer like this.


	92. 3. Intermission (Scene 2)

_Scene 2 - Thirteen Years Ago  
_ _Exterior Rooftops, Night  
_ _Benjamin Brant_

I raced over the rooftops, leaping and trusting to my cape to spread and slow my fall. It did so, stiffening just as I’d designed it to and catching the wind, allowing me to keep up with the damnably-quick women I was chasing. “Stop!” I cried, not really expecting them to.

Surprisingly, they did - the one in costume grabbed her companion by the arm to slow her. I heard them arguing as I landed on the edge of the same building.

“No, Essa. I told you, I’d only come out with you if you let me keep you safe, you can’t confront a hero when we could just escape.”

“Come on, babe, it’ll be fun! This is what it’s all about! And besides, he’s a new hero - he can’t have been doing this for much longer than we have, he hasn’t been in the news at all!” She was giving her partner puppy-dog eyes now.

I paused briefly in my approach, confused.

The uncostumed one, who instead wore casual clothes with her long, dark hair pinned up and an odd blur over most of her face, sighed. “Alright, Essa. If you insist.”

“Yay!” The one in costume - Essa - turned to face me, a brilliant smile on her face. “Well, hero? We’ve stopped - what now?”

I cleared my throat and tried to lower my voice. “You’re under arrest,” I growled. “Stealing is a crime.”

She giggled, the other simply rolling her eyes. “Is it really? I wasn’t aware.”

“How did you even find out?” the uncostumed one asked. “We robbed an illegal gambling den. Are you on contract for them?”

“I saw you slipping out of the building at on a.m. with a sack full of loot. Seemed pretty clear.”

“Fair enough,” she allowed.

“What’s your name, hero?” Essa asked. “We haven’t been introduced.

“Call me Starling.”

“Aren’t Starlings daytime birds?” the uncostumed one asked.

“Shut up,” I growled, and instantly regretted it.

The costumed woman laughed, a high-tinkling sound. The bitch was _enjoying _this. “Oh, honey, he’s just a baby! I can’t fight him, I’d feel so bad if I hurt him! I don’t think he’s even 18-”

“I’m 19,” I protested before I could stop myself, and she laughed again.

“Even so. Let’s just go, dear.”

The other shrugged and offered an arm to what I suppose must have been her girlfriend.

I snarled, drawing the tech staff I had built and snapping it open. It expanded from a foot and a half to a full six feet, and I launched myself at the smug, condescending bitches. 

Immediately, their attitude vanished and they clearly stopped underestimating me - but not, unfortunately, because I was a threat. The costumed one, Essa, seemed to sense me coming somehow, releasing her friends arm and stepping to the side as I brought the staff down on her head.

She didn’t even flinch.

She turned, moving far faster than anyone should have been able to, and with a swipe of her hand, sliced my staff into two pieces. With her other hand, she grabbed me by the throat and lifted me casually into the air.

“I’ll let you live,” she told me, her voice as casual as her clothing, “because you targeted me, and not her. But you’re not going free unscathed.”


	93. 3. Intermission (Scene 3)

_Scene 3 - Thirteen Years Ago  
_ _Interior Hospital, Late Morning  
_ _Benjamin Brant_

“Mr. Brant?” the nurse said, knocking on the doorframe of the room I was being housed in. “You have a visitor.”

“Who is it?” I demanded. “If it’s Uncle Bruce, I don’t want to see him-”

“It’s not Bruce,” she assured me.

“...fine.”

The nurse left as a new face appeared - a vaguely Asian looking man of about my age, wearing a tailored gray suit. “Heya, Ben!” he said cheerfully, taking a clicker from his pocket and clicking it to no apparent effect.

“Who are you, exactly?” I asked, feeling suspicious of this stranger who had just walked into my hospital room.

“Call me Miles,” he said, offering a hand. “I work for a company called Ambrosia, which you’ve probably never heard of.”

“It’s the food of the gods, said to grant immortality to those who consume it,” I snapped, bristling. “Obviously.”

“Also a type of salad!” Miles said, still obnoxiously cheerful. “But I meant the company, which is of course a reference to the mythological ambrosia and not the mediocre fruit salad.”

I didn’t say anything. No, I hadn’t heard of this Ambrosia Company, but that didn’t mean I had to admit it.

“The point, Ben, is that I’m coming to you with an offer from Ambrosia.”

“I don’t need money,” I growled. “I’ve got more than enough of that from my parents.”

“Yes, we, ah, we heard. That’s part of why we’re making the offer to you - we know you can afford it.”

“This isn’t about the hospital stay, then?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s just what brought you to our attention. Madam Thornhill - our president - likes your... how did she put it? Your _gumption_. She thinks you were very brave to go out and try to be a vigilante without powers.”

“Foolish, more like,” I admitted, glancing down at my broken legs. “I didn’t stand a chance against that woman.”

“La Borda is making quite a name for herself,” Miles agreed. “Although she’s been mostly standing behind Hertz.”

“Those are their names?” I asked, committing them to memory. I wouldn’t forgive those two - not ever. “The unit of wave frequency, and... is that Italian?”

“Yes. The borda is a sort of witch in Italian folklore, although not a particularly well-known one. I believe her namesake has a sort of short-ranged control over spacetime.”

I thought about the implications of that for a moment, and was horrified. “That’s stupidly powerful!”

“Yes, quite,” Miles agreed. “Some people have all the luck. Fortunately she isn’t terribly ambitious.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“One of our most satisfied customers.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What did she buy from Ambrosia, exactly?”

“Have you heard of Ondechoq? Small-time supercriminal from Portugal, went inactive several months ago?”

“No.”

“He had the ability to control soundwaves, a power that he was _not_ using to its full potential,” he told me. “One of our agents captured him and we extracted his metagene. Some genetic therapy courtesy of Doctor Hart, and Miss Hertz is now the proud owner of a metagene all her own.”

“You sell powers,” I realized. “How does that work, exactly?”

“We do indeed,” Miles agreed. “We have a couple different processes and are always looking for more - everyone is different, after all. Doctors Hart and Kaufman are our genetic specialists, but I personally handle magic.”

“Which would...”

“Which would be used for you? It depends on what exactly you’re interested in, and the results of a few tests they’ll need to perform. Do you have any metagenes?”

“Not that I know.”

“Then the one that just activates your gene will be out. We can transfer an activated metagene to you, as we did for Hertz, or transfer a magical gift.” He frowned. “There are also... experimental methods, which may be dangerous and aren’t guaranteed to work. They bring the price down, though.”

“How did two petty thieves afford this?” I asked. “It can’t be cheap, after all.”

“It certainly isn’t. But along with discounts for assisting in our development, we also offer discounts for those willing to do us favors, and even loan plans. Madam Thornhill is a reasonable woman. I believe that La Borda did a favor for her, Hertz promised a single favor in the future, and the rest they’re paying on loan - thus their current careers as thieves.”

“Hn.” I considered it for a few minutes, Miles producing a smartphone and scrolling through something while I thought. Having powers would certainly assist my crusade against crime. It would guarantee admittance to the MLED, where I would have access to better information and resources. But... “Is it going to be a problem that I intend to be a hero, and not a villain?”

“Not at all,” he assured me. “We take no stance on that conflict - our only allegiance is to our customers.”

“Then let’s talk options,” I decided. “And I’ll want to know how much it will cost...”


	94. 3. Intermission (Scene 4)

_Scene 4 - Thirteen Years Ago  
_ _Ambrosia Co. Laboratory, Late Morning  
_ _Benjamin Brant_

After some negotiation, we arrived at a deal that satisfied us both. I would assist them in the testing of an experimental supersuit that Ambrosia had funded the creation of, something called the Psychic Augmenter Mark 5 - the experimental nature of the suit would reduce the price enough that I was willing to pay it, and if it failed I could be given a proven treatment in exchange for a favor at a later date. The test was set for one month after I was released from the hospital.

When the day came, I had dodged Uncle Bruce and made my way to a point in a park where Miles waited for me. He took a brief glance around, then took my hand and quietly chanted something that my brain simply refused to make any sense of, forgetting it as soon as I heard it.

When he finished, however, I realized that I was no longer standing in the park or, for that matter, holding his hand - instead, I was holding the hand of an attractive, aristocratic looking woman a few inches shorter than me.

“You must be Mr. Brant,” she said, releasing my hand. “My name is Doctor Kaufman, and I’ll be overseeing this test.

“Yes, I am. How did I...?”

“Mr. Mercer’s magic is of a sort that trades things,” she informed me. “The closer in value to each other the better. In this case, he traded you for my colleague Dr. Hartland, who has a similar build to you and was amenable to spending a day in New Venice.”

“Teleportation?”

“Of a sort. That’s not what you’re here for though, is it?” she noted.

I flushed. “Right. How will this work?”

She showed me to a dark green bodysuit, almost black, which appeared to cover everything from the neck down. Long boots and gauntlets seemed to be made of a more armored material and a lighter green than the fabric that made up the rest of the suit. A similarly armored belt was finished with a transparent buckle, and the soles of the boots and palms of the gauntlets were the same transparent material. I stepped behind a modesty screen to change into it.

“This is the PA4.5,” she said. “It’s actually the fifth version of this technology, but it differs only slightly from the previous version. But...” she growled. “For reasons beyond my control, the PA4 and all notes on it were lost, and as such this is primarily as a recreation in order to continue my research.”

“And it awakens psychic abilities, correct?”

“Correct. Specifically, it stimulates the nervous system and alters it to allow you to pick up on and manipulate psychic energy, which is already in the world. If my theory is right, you’ll have powers both in and out of the suit, but they’ll be enhanced to some degree while you’re in it. It’s also somewhat armored, because, well...” There was a brief pause in which I assumed she was shrugging. “Why not?”

“Why not indeed. And you believe you have all the kinks worked out?”

“I do. Previous test subjects have had, let’s gloss over the nasty details and just say ‘issues’ with it, but the alterations should keep you safe.”

“What alterations?”

“Primarily it’s that you’re younger - below the critical age of 25, when the human brain finishes developing. You still have enough neural plasticity to cope with additional sensory inputs.” Her voice had previously been dry and analytical, but she was warming to the subject now. “Additionally, the suit no longer covers the head, which should prevent your brain from melting.”

“...wait, what was that?”

“It only happened with one subject, don’t worry about it.”

“...out of how many?” I asked, beginning to have second thoughts.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Brant, you’ll be fine. Are you changed?”

“Yes, I-”

Kaufman swept the modesty curtain aside. “Right. There’s an activation button on the clasp of the belt - hit that, then turn the dial it’s set into until the suit is comfortable.”


	95. 3. Intermission (Scene 5)

_Scene 5 - Thirteen Years Ago  
_ _Exterior City, Late Evening  
_ _Benjamin Brant_

The PA4.5 had worked exactly as Kaufman told me it would. Over the course of several hours, I felt tingles and itching all over me - which were, apparently, the result of my nervous system essentially rebooting and relearning how to feel. The slight headaches over the same time were my brain upgrading my senses thanks to the vastly expanded input.

And what input it was! My vision seemed to be entirely disconnected from my eyes, being entirely omnidirectional and no longer limited to the normal visual spectrum. My hearing was so acute that even in darkness I could navigate with echolocation, and the range of what I could hear had similarly been expanded.

And that wasn’t all. While I could only do it for a few moments at a time - Kaufman seemed confident that my time could improve with practice, likening my new ability to a psychic muscle - I could lift myself entirely off the ground in flight! Even when my strength ran out and I began to fall, it was slower and more lightly than my mass should indicate, and when combined with the cape I had created, my aerial mobility would be truly worthy of my chosen name.

When I mentioned the cape to her, Kaufman had gotten a sly look on her face, then offered me a deal - the Ambrosia Co. seemed to like those. The PA4.5 would, she reminded me, augment my abilities to some degree even after the initial granting of power. She had offered to give me this copy of it as well as her notes on how to maintain it, allowing me to claim it as my own invention, if I did her a small favor. All I had to do was take a message to her family in New Venice. “Don’t worry,” she assured me with a crooked smile. “I’m sure nothing will happen to the notes on it this time - continuing the project will be no problem.”

It didn’t seem all that difficult, although I wasn’t sure why she contact them herself. Ah well. I was traveling across the rooftops on my way to the address she had given, reveling in the incredible freedom flight gave me, when I was startled to see a massive humanoid figure with a much smaller one sitting on its shoulder - Anima, the leader of the New Champions, sitting atop one of the golems she could create.

She noticed me too, giving me a wave that the golem copied, and I landed beside her to say hello. By the end of the night I had agreed to join the junior MLED team, the Young Champions, and had completely forgotten about the message.


End file.
